


Bleeding Shadows

by one_more_page



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: ...but with monsters, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, BAMF Merlin (Merlin), BAMF Morgana (Merlin), Dark Fantasy, Ensemble Cast, Feral Tenderness, Graduate School, M/M, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:40:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 99,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24610057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/one_more_page/pseuds/one_more_page
Summary: The doorway between the world of monsters and the world of the living is cracking open. And Emrys is the only one standing in their way.Merlin is a Sorcerer serving as the Monster Hunter for the prestigious Camelot University. When he saves Arthur on a bleak night in October it could be any other case but there’s something about Arthur that Merlin can’t quite shake.Despite Merlin’s efforts to remove Arthur from the world of magic he seems to always be right where Merlin doesn’t want him. Add in an Apprentice who doesn’t know how to mind her own business, an old mentor who swore she would never help Merlin again, and a graduate student who seems to find herself in the wrong place at the wrong time and Merlin has more on his plate than he can handle. But is it destiny pushing all of them together? Or is there something far more sinister at work beneath the stones of Camelot?
Relationships: Gwen/Morgana (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 299
Kudos: 330





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got the idea for this fic when I kept seeing the phrase "dark academia" and I just assumed that it was referring to dark fantasy stories that take place in higher education. Turns out, that's not what dark academia is but I wrote this anyway.
> 
> Also rather than butcher British slang, terminology, and the mechanisms of higher education in England, I went ahead and put this fictitious city of Camelot and its university somewhere in the northeastern region of the United States.

A growl, low and snarling rumbles through the night.

The fog is too dense to see through, nearly opaque as it pools along the ancient and cobbled streets. Arthur’s breath is ragged as the frigid October air stings his throat. It’s colder than it should be but that’s really the least of his concerns at the moment. His feet pound against the pavement as he skids around a corner slick from an afternoon of rain. His bag thuds against his back, heavy with textbooks and a laptop. He knows he’ll have painful bruises tomorrow.

If he makes it to tomorrow.

He pauses behind a building, resting one hand against the stitch in his side and the other against the old stone near a plaque that reads “Pendragon Hall” and he almost laughs at the irony. His keycard will be fucking useless to get him access to the business building. For the first time in his tenure at Camelot University as both an undergraduate and graduate student he wishes he had just gone along with what his father wanted. 

Hysterical laughter nearly pours out of him. But he doesn’t have time for laughter either. Before he can decide whether or not to chance a glance around the building, all the hairs on his arms stand to attention in a wave. The fear starts at his wrist, tingles up his forearm, over his bicep until the hairs on the back of his neck and upright and nearly electric.

From the street there is a low and horrifying snarl, the tone pitched so low if he hadn’t seen the beast himself he wouldn’t have believed that’s what he was hearing at all. Because though it is unmistakably a snarl, there’s a deeper noise as well. A slow and painful groan, a wail so sad and desperate and _anguished_ he feels tears prickle just at the corner of his eyes.

Arthur has no idea _what the fuck_ is going on.

Up until the Shadow Monster had attacked him his evening had been almost painfully ordinary, identical to every other evening this week. He arrived at the library just after dinner and sat in his favorite corner table right on the fifth floor so he could look out at the lawn as the sun set and the moon rose and before he had even made it through half the articles he needed to read for tomorrow, the crackling PA system of the library kicked into gear and Elena’s bubbly voice echoed around him letting him know the building was closing in five minutes.

Which meant it was nearing 3:00 am.

He gave a small wave to Elena as he passed her on his way out.

“Can’t believe they made you work on Halloween,” he joked.

She gave her usual bright laugh. “Says the guy who came to the library on Halloween.” 

He gave her an eye roll as he pushed through the sensors and she flashed him a grin that was far too chipper for the late hour. She was likely going to be equally as chipper at their 8:00 Journal Club, a feat Arthur still didn’t fully understand. Happiness was a rare trait to find in the citizens of Camelot.

The streets were empty, only the soft glow of the torches illuminated the cobbled paths before him. In this distance there was the distinctive sound of pulsing base lines and cheers and screams as students celebrated the holiday but there wasn’t a soul besides Arthur walking the streets this deep in the heart of campus tonight. 

It was late enough that he probably _should_ have called a cab or lyft or _Elyan_ who owned a car, had appalling sleeping habits, and definitely wasn’t partaking in any festivities as he worked in the morning. But Arthur lived so close to campus it was hard to justify. It was only a ten minute walk.

What could possibly go wrong?

Then all the lampposts went out with a loud pop and the world around him grew impossibly dark. Arthur’s heart picked up in time with his steps. Power surge? But it couldn’t be a power surge, Camelot was obsessed with preserving history and giving the illusion that this university was frozen in time so all the lamps were gas. And Arthur certainly doesn’t know enough about gas lines to know if there is a normal logical reason why they all might be doused at once but his gut told him that even if he came up with a plausible answer, it wasn’t going to be the right one.

The mist gathered next, faster than Arthur had ever seen. Thick tendrils wrapped along the ground, curling around his ankles and making him shiver. The wind picked up and whipped around him, biting and angry.

The lone howl was the only warning he had before a monster jumped out of the fog with a snarl, glistening white teeth snapping at him.

Arthur’s heart leapt into his throat and he couldn’t even scream as he dove onto the ground and rolled out of the creature’s way. The beast slid along the slippery pavement until it hit the building next to them with a thud. Arthur saw the opportunity and took off running.

He thought he had been keeping ahead of it but now...

Steeling himself, he takes off again. His feet echo against the weathered stones and he wonders if this is some sort of absolutely horrifically real nightmare he’s having in the library. One of those vivid dreams you get when you fall into an unexpected slumber. It’s the only logical explanation. Because whatever the fuck this is, it couldn’t possibly be real.

The mist is too thick. He has no idea where he is and starts taking corners at random, knowing the monster can’t turn as fast, will have to slip and slide and get its feet back under it. But he can still feel the horrible beast behind his back trailing him, _hunting_ him.

His feet skid to halt as he approaches a brick wall.

Dead end.

An apt phrase at the moment.

He turns to look at the mouth of the alley, the creature stalking toward him. Shadows ripple along its back, eyes glowing red as blood. It’s like it’s made of the night itself. The only thing he can clearly see are its huge fangs, dripping. The air is thick with humidity and smoke and ash and where did that even come from? It’s not cold anymore, it’s hotter than hell itself. There’s a sharp and acrid smell of sulphur clogging his throat.

His hand goes to his pocket and his heart stutters out of rhythm. His phone is missing. But what good would it do really? He doubts he would even have time to make a call and how useful would that be in the end? All it would do would give whoever he calls an audio recording of the grisly sound of his death.

A dizzying sort of stillness settles over him as he realizes he’s going to die and there’s not a thing he can do to stop it. 

He watches in frozen horror as the creature lunges straight toward him, fangs bared and mouth wide open.

\--

As Merlin’s phone rings loud and obnoxious in the room, echoing off blank walls and an uncovered vinyl floor, he contemplates ways to _murder_ his Apprentice. Because this _has_ to be her fault.

It’s supposed to be his night off. Which meant for the first time in _weeks_ he was going to get eight fucking _blissful_ uninterrupted hours of sleep. He didn’t really think that was too much to ask. It’s not like he wants twelve or anything unreasonable, just the recommended dose. He’s been running on fumes for far too long.

The problem, as it always seems to be, is that his Apprentice isn’t quite settling in as quickly as Merlin was hoping. This would be the third one in too short a period of time. The Apprentice needed to complete the full two-year course of training before they could take the test and try to hold Merlin’s position. And only _then_ could Merlin leave his job, get his degree, and get the hell out of this city. 

If he was going to start from scratch with a brand new Apprentice, it didn’t look like Merlin was leaving Camelot anytime soon.

As the too cheerful sounds of a default ringtone chime around him, he spares a moment’s despair for the lost sleep and resigns himself to answering it. Even if it is his night off, he is still on-call. It comes with the absolutely horrible territory that is his job.

“Hello?” or that’s what he tries to say, he’s fairly certain it is more of a growl.

“Merlin? It’s Elena.”

He sits up more alert. “Elena?” 

He hasn’t heard from Elena in a long time, not since he helped her dispel the Sidhe that was trying to kill her and take over her body. She didn’t really believe that’s what happened. No one ever really believes they’ve seen something supernatural. Instead they construct elaborate mental barriers of repression and denial so they never have to think about it again. Merlin is a living representation of the nightmare they survived. He rarely hears from clients ever again.

His parting words to her had been his usual farewell: _Give me a call if anything else weird and horrifying happens._

His stomach tightens slightly as he listens to her nervous breathing on the phone. It seems she took his words to heart.

She swallows loudly. “Merlin, I saw something….I don’t….” there’s fear in her voice, high-pitched and uncertain. Terrified. The kind of fear that only comes when you see something that shouldn’t exist, that your mind has utterly no way to reason through.

Merlin puts her on speaker and begins throwing on jeans and a ratty Camelot University sweatshirt his mother purchased for him when they visited the campus together nearly eight years ago. Christ has it been that long? He’s never going to get out at the rate he’s going. The last person who held his job got out in a clean four years and is now living a life of blissful luxury. Or that’s what it looks like from where Merlin is standing.

He puts on his calm, professional voice and says, “Elena, tell me everything.”

Another breath, loud and staticy in his open studio apartment. “I closed up the library and found a phone just outside the door and then I opened it just to see who it belonged to -- like if there was a picture or something? -- I wasn’t going to snoop or anything --”

“Elena,” they really don’t have time for her to defend her character even if Merlin _did_ suspect she was capable of anything nefarious. He doesn’t. The reason the Sidhe struggled so much to possess her is because she’s too _nice_.

“Right, sorry. Anyway there were credit cards in the case and it belongs to one of my classmates so I ran after him but then all the lights went out --” Merlin laces up his work boots, the material thick and heavy with magic, “and this really crazy fog rolled in --” he grabs the utility belt and straps it to his waist, “and then there was a _monster_ chasing him.” She says “monster” like she expects him to contradict her. 

If that’s what she wants, she’s going to be sorely disappointed.

A glance outside shows frost on his window. Which is odd, but if the monster came from the Ether then it would need to change atmospheric conditions to keep itself stable. The fact that its reach is so _wide_ is a touch alarming but he’s got to tackle one problem at a time. Merlin grabs his favorite scarf and trademark brown utility jacket and slides his text messages open. “Describe it,” he tells Elena as he pulls up his conversation with his piece of shit Apprentice.

That’s unfair, the Apprentice isn’t that bad. Merlin’s just in a foul mood. He’s grumpy when he doesn’t get enough sleep.

“I don’t know,” she’s so uncertain, like saying it’s real will break down the careful barriers she’s built within herself. Merlin gives her thirty seconds to come to terms with it herself before he tears down the barriers for her. Time, as always, is of the essence. There’s a sigh as she admits defeat. “I didn’t get a good look. There wasn’t anything in front of me and then suddenly there was this _huge_ creature.”

His fingers hastily send _check the fucking Scanner. near library_. There is a chance that it is something they haven’t yet coded for but he is really hoping that isn’t the case. They’ve coded for everything that’s easy to get rid of. “Size?” he asks Elena.

“I don’t know...maybe as big as a bear or a lion?” If it was that big it certainly ruled out a decent number of creatures. “It was all black almost like it was made of shadows. It made a horrible noise.” He can practically feel her shudder, even though she’s clear on the other side of campus, talking to him through radio waves.

His phone pings. _I’ve been watching the monitor all night._

He huffs and angrily types. _check. again._

“What kind of noise?” He asks as he shoulders his way through his shitty door. He doesn’t bother locking it. He has personally put enough wards on it that if anyone got too close they would suddenly have a desperate urge to be anywhere else.

“It was like someone was wailing.”

Not screaming, not crying, _wailing_.

There’s only one creature he’s ever heard sound like that and it should fucking _show up_ on their software so his lesser half _should_ have dealt with it. Merlin’s going to be looking for Apprentice number four earlier than he thought.

He sets off at a run toward the library. If he really booked it, he’d be there in five. “Are you inside?”

“No,” Elena squeaks.

“Get back in the library, lock the doors. You still have that charm I gave you?” A high-pitched _mmm hmm_ of confirmation, “good, then you’ll be fine.” It was a simple ward but powerful enough to keep almost everything out of the Ether at bay. Merlin had given it to her as a precautionary measure in case the Sidhe got a little too interested again. “I’ll come get you when it’s safe.”

Before she can gush any gratitude as he distinctly remembers her and her father shaking his hand for an uncomfortably long amount of time after the Sidhe Extraction, he ends the call and dials his soon-to-be-terminated Apprentice. He’s really never going to escape this job or this school or even this fucking city.

From far away he hears Ealdor calling for him.

He doesn’t wait for Freya to say hello.

“What part of ‘watch the monitor and handle any suspicious activity’ wasn’t fucking clear?” he snarls, breathing even as the library looms before him. Sprinting across campus happened far too frequently for Merlin’s tastes. The fog is too dense to see anything clearly but he thinks he can see a figure standing just beyond the entrance doors of the library, face pressed to the glass. He can’t decide if it’s brave or stupid to see a monster, get told by a _monster hunter_ to stay inside, and then toe the line of what qualifies as inside as dangerously as possible.

Freya makes a squawking sort of noise on the other end of the line. Merlin spares a moment to feel bad for being so harsh. It was the girl’s first night manning the Scanner alone. Merlin had thought it would be relatively uneventful. Though even without his experience, Freya should be able to handle situations like this, it’s a _textbook_ banishing. 

“Shit Merlin, I swear to all the gods that I’ve been _glued_ to the Scanner, haven’t taken my eyes off it! The creature didn’t show up until I refreshed the software. I can check the code tomorrow --”

They don’t have time to talk about what went wrong, they’ll be plenty of that in the morning. And re-writing and testing code for weeks to come. Now they have a monster to hunt.

Merlin cuts her promises off. “Where is it?”

Freya takes a steadying breath. It’s one of the things he likes most about Freya. The way she can calm her emotions and solve the problem at hand. Maybe he won’t fire her. “Heading down Brown, just past the Pendragon building. Cut through the Arts --”

Merlin is already running toward the out-of-place eyesore that was the fine arts building. “Yeah, yeah, I got it.”

He swipes his all access card against the detector and races along the first floor. He didn’t have anything against art in and of itself, his problem was that it was one of the buildings most likely to still have students inside it at 3:00 in the fucking morning, on Halloween no less. It was nearly as bad as some of the science buildings.

“Merlin, it stopped. I think it’s _prowling_.” An official word straight out of the Monster Hunter Handbook. The fact that Freya is using it means bad news.

“Fuck, where?”

Merlin picks up his pace, ignoring the wide eyed and skeptical looks from students working away in their studios.

“Alley behind the building. Do you want me to --”

He ends the call. Freya should already be hauling ass across campus and if she wasn’t, then that’s one more thing Merlin would get to lecture her on in the morning.

With his magic stinging his fingertips, he throws open the door at the end of the hall just as the monster jumps for the kill.

\--

The panic is thick enough to choke on as the creature made of shadow dives, jaw wide and open toward Arthur but still he cannot move. It barrels into him, strong as a train, and his head cracks against the pavement. The beast’s teeth sink into his ankle and a searing pain rips through him. A fire starts at his ankle and burns all the way up his leg. Through the haze of the pain he realizes he’s being dragged toward the swirling shadows in the mist.

Adrenaline courses through him in a swift wave and he springs into action at last. He kicks with his other foot and it connects with the beasts snout. It lets out a scream as it releases its hold and Arthur scrambles backwards away from it.

Then there’s another roar, this one loud and human, and a light blinding enough to burn his retinas. Arthur throws up his hands to shield his eyes and the creature lets out a piercing wail.

Arthur cracks one eye open to see a man standing between him and the creature, wind whipping around him as the fog swirls stronger. His palms are thrust in front of him facing the beast and it seems like sunshine is pouring out of them, bright and brilliant and gold.

He’s like an angel.

He’s yelling something either too low for Arthur to understand or in a language he’s never heard before. Or maybe both.

Arthur looks over the man’s shoulder to see the creature hunched in on itself and for the first time he’s able to take in its shape: a long snout, strangely delicate triangular ears on either side of its head, four legs that end in what look to be enormous paws. It throws its head back, neck elongated and that slim muzzle is pointed straight toward the sky as it wails. It’s so mournful that it takes everything in Arthur’s power not to take a step toward it. If it wasn’t for the glowing man before him, he’s not sure he would succeed.

The howling grows louder, shaking the ground beneath his feet and then with a cry that might shatter Arthur’s ear drums the creature disappears in a huge gust of smoke.

Then there is only a ringing silence.

There’s a quick and rapid panting noise, heavy and wet, and it’s only when there are hands on his shoulders that he realizes it's his own breathing.

“Hey, come on, sit down. Put your head between your knees.”

He lets the man guide him to the ground, feels a reassuring pressure on his shoulder as the man crouches in front of him and he obeys because he thinks he might rip into one thousand pieces if he doesn’t. The man is guiding his breathing with gentle words until Arthur feels marginally more in control of himself.

He hasn’t had a panic attack in a long time.

Not since his mother died.

As he comes back to himself he can’t stop thinking about the fact that he still has his fucking backpack on and how stupid he must have looked running with it. How ridiculous it would have been to die wearing it while he got eviscerated. How they would have to use the contents of the bag to identify his body because he surely would have been torn to shreds. For some reason it’s the only thing he can think about. He might be in shock.

“You might be in shock,” the voice says. It’s low and soft, almost musical, and makes him feel warm and safe in a way that shouldn’t be possible given what just happened. Although...what _did_ just happen?

The question dies on his lips as he meets the eyes of the stranger before him. After everything that transpired over the last quarter of an hour, because according to the man’s obnoxiously large watch it really is only 3:15 am, this man before him fully makes him think this is the most realistic dream he’s ever had and now his subconscious is rewarding him for all the terror it inflicted. This guy can’t be real, with his unreasonable cheekbones, impossibly full lips, and eyes that are the clearest blue he’s ever seen. His clothes are fitted and threadbare, a scarf with more loose threads than his sweatshirt, and he’s wearing a belt that Arthur’s only ever seen on construction workers and a coat that’s a mix between something a hunter might wear or a character on a really shitty detective show but for some reason it just _works_. The hair that is tangled mess of curls just further completes the look.

Arthur swallows and wonders what his savior would do if Arthur tried to kiss him.

Arthur is definitely in shock.

The man gives him a smile, small and secret and beautiful. “Can I?” He gestures at Arthur’s leg.

Arthur nods not sure what he’s agreeing to, not really caring as long as it keeps this man in front of him.

He watches as a knife is extracted from his belt and with a gentle delicacy the fabric at the end of his pants is cut away. The blue eyes are on him again. “Do you want me to heal it?”

Another nod. He assumes he’s going to wrap it or clean it so when cool fingers wrap around it, he sucks in a startled breath.

“This might sting.”

It’s already stinging but the gentle pressure of those fingers is already seeping a coolness into his skin. He watches as the man’s eyes flash a molten gold and then there’s a warmth spreading through him, radiating from the place where the man’s skin touches his.

“All done.”

He blinks and looks down at the smooth skin. He looks up into the face of this stranger a dozen questions at the tip of his tongue but he can only stare at the way the moonlight hits his left cheekbone but the light from the emergency exit door illuminates the right so he’s half in the shadows and half in the light. He looks like something out of a painting.

Arthur is brought back to reality with a shout from the end of the alley.

“Emrys!”

The man, _Emrys_ , gives a quick quirk of his mouth and flashes one long finger before him in a “just one moment” gesture. Arthur sort of wants to ask him if he plays the piano. He’s definitely not in his right mind at the moment.

The man stands and Arthur is once again aware of how ridiculous he must look. Knees to his chest, stupid fucking backpack on.

There’s a hastily whisper-shouted conversation between the two of them where it’s clear Emrys is berating the younger girl. Arthur doesn’t even pretend he’s not eavesdropping.

“Don’t call me that,” Emrys says, his body language has his shoulders back, arms crossed but his tone is fond. As if he’s speaking to a younger sibling.

The girl crosses her arms. She can’t be more than 18 or 19. The faint vestiges of youth are still clinging to her face, rounding it in a way to make her look young and innocent. It doesn’t help that she’s got to be nearly a foot shorter than him. “It’s in the handbook.”

“When have you ever given a shit about the handbook?” Emrys hisses.

“You are always telling me I should!”

Emrys makes a growling sort of noise and the sound goes straight through Arthur. Shock. It’s got to be the shock.

The girl gives him a worried sort of look. “Did you send it back?”

“Yeah….” Emrys trails off and glances at Arthur and back to the girl. “It bit him.”

The girl’s jaw drops and she stares at Arthur with huge eyes. Uh oh. “It bit him?! _Him_?! What are we going to do? Should I call Gaius, should I call Isolde? Morgause? Anhora? Tell me who you need me to call, Emrys. I’ll call Morg --”

Emrys puts his hands on her shoulders. “Calm down.” Her jaw clicks shut. “Go to the library. There’s a girl there, Elena. Walk her home. Tell her she can stop by the workshop anytime if she needs some ill advised therapy. Then get back to the shop”

“Emrys,” it’s a whine, a plea, and an apology all wrapped in one. “Shit -- God -- Christ, are we going to --”

“Freya --”

“-- open a portal because when Dr. Muirden tried that he almost _died_ \--”

“Apprentice!” Emrys’ voice is a whip crack and the girl, presumably called Freya, falls silent. Emrys leans in closer. “Just, please, do what I said. Library, Elena, and then we’ll figure out what to do from there.” He flashes her a smile. “I’ve got this.”

With a firm nod the girl leaves and Arthur is alone with the mysterious stranger once more. Feeling stupid still on the ground he jumps to his feet and then adjusts the straps of his bag and feels even more stupid. He’s switching to a messenger bag first thing in the morning.

“What was that?” His voice comes out stronger than he thought it would given all that had happened. He’s fairly proud of himself.

Emrys turns around and hooks a thumb over his shoulder. “That’s just an associate of mine.”

There’s a flicker of annoyance and amusement that cuts through the what-the-ever-loving-fuck-is-happening-I-think-the-world-is-crumbling-around-me feeling pressing down on Arthur’s chest.

“Not the _child_.” Emrys smirks at the word like it pleases him, though with Emrys’ features he might be an undergrad too. “The evil creature.”

A quirk of a brow. “You saw it?”

Arthur scowls. “Of course I saw it! It was trying to attack me.” Arthur crosses his arms. “What was it?” he repeats.

Emrys lets out a long breath. “Oh that? That was a dog.” His eyes are almost comically wide. Arthur half expects him to bat his eyelashes.

Arthur blinks at him and crosses his arms. “A _dog_?” he asks dubiously, raising an eyebrow. His father might not have raised him in a pet-friendly sort of house but Arthur knows enough about animals to know whatever the fuck that _thing_ was it wasn’t anything of this world.

Merlin nods solemnly, face too serious, eyes too understanding. He’s trying to play Arthur and if Arthur hadn’t nearly _died_ , it might actually work. “There’s been a rabid dog on the loose. Elena at the library saw it chasing you and gave me a call.” Another smile, wide and beguiling. Eyebrows raised in a challenge. Flirtatious.

Or so Arthur hopes.

“And you are….some sort of.... _dog_ ….catcher?” He makes sure to enunciate the word “dog” as much as possible so Emrys is clear that he doesn’t for one second think that thing was a dog.

There’s a different smile, small and mischievous. And Arthur is struck with a desperate urge to catalogue each and every one of this man’s expressions, write an encyclopedia on his microexpressions, learn him down the messy marrow of his soul. “That’s one way to phrase it.” Arthur continues to look at him with skepticism and the man rubs a hand over his face. “Listen, I’m normally way better at this but it’s been kind of a long week. You can either suspend your disbelief or tell yourself this is all an elaborate hallucination but either way you’ve got to come with me.”

Arthur crosses his arms. “Why?”

“Because if the _dog_ wasn’t after you before, it certainly is now. It’s got your taste.” He gives a pointed look at his ankle. “And unless you stick with me, it’s going to catch you again.”

With the fog gone Arthur notices how clear the night is, every star out to see. Well, every star one could see so close to a large metropolitan city. The moon is painting the scene in an otherworldly glow and Arthur can’t shake the feeling that this is a dream.

Arthur stands feeling uncertain, like he’s on a precipice about to look deep into a world he doesn’t want to see. “Who _are_ you?”

Emrys shrugs. “I’m just the guy trying to keep the monsters at bay.”

A howl sounds in the distance.

Emrys turns to him with wide eyes. “We really have to go. And I don’t want to knock you out or anything but I will if you’re going to be a moron.”

“I’m not a moron,” Arthur protests before he can stop himself.

Emrys smirks. “Prove it.”

Arthur steps closer and watches as a slow smile spreads across Emrys’ face. “What should I call you?” Arthur asks. “You clearly don’t like being called Emrys.”

Emrys grins wider. “It’s just a stupid title. My name is Merlin.” He extends a hand.

Arthur tentatively shakes it. “Arthur.”

Emrys’ -- _Merlin’s_ smile takes on a mischievous smirk. “Well, Arthur. I hope you aren’t too afraid of the dark.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I have no idea what the posting schedule for this will look like but I should have a better idea once I edit the next chapter. Also I'm still finishing the last third so more relationship tags might be added depending on how the character arcs pan out.
> 
> Comments and kudos are the best :)


	2. Chapter 2

There are Cardinal Rules to being Emrys; written, recorded, and followed to the letter since the moment the Operation began.

Rules that Merlin had _beaten_ into his skull during training. The type of rules that you didn’t break so much as you did abandon, leaving the world to fend for itself and burn.

> _RULE NUMBER ONE: An Emrys must always have magic at the ready._
> 
> _RULE NUMBER THIRTEEN: Though you are a student, your first priority will always be your duty as Emrys. Plan accordingly._
> 
> _RULE NUMBER TWENTY NINE: If you are in range to strike a Supernatural Entity, it is in range to strike you. Act first._
> 
> _RULE NUMBER THIRTY EIGHT: When leaving the scene of an Incident you must destroy all evidence tying the scene to the Ether or the Supernatural._

Merlin knows the rules forward, backward, upside down and any other preposition you could throw his way. There will come a time, if he is incredibly lucky, when he’s old and gray and his memories will be faded. He’s certain if asked to recite the rules even then, those words would trickle off his tongue without hesitation.

Despite all of this, Merlin has _royally_ fucked up.

Avalon Street is quiet by the time Merlin and Arthur make their way down the pavement. The scenes of revelry and celebration either taken indoors or dissipated entirely. Merlin pulls Arthur down the street toward the small string of shops that the students affectionately call “downtown” even though the real downtown Camelot is only a few bus stops away. It’s cute and quaint in a way the rest of the university can’t manage. The campus itself has too many dark, looming historic buildings and new sleek modern buildings to foster the same sort of coziness. 

Arthur has been near silent the entire walk, glancing over his shoulder more than a few times. Merlin assured him that it takes _Hellhounds_ at least an hour to recharge between trips from the Ether. Arthur merely gave one terse nod in response. He’s handling the discovery of magic a hell of a lot better than most people. Merlin keeps trying to subtly sneak glances to see if it’s all a front and he’s on the cusp of another panic attack.

Though if he’s being honest, that’s not the only reason he’s stealing glances.

Merlin nearly dropped his jaw when he finished dispelling the _Hellhound_ to the Ether and turned to ask the person it was stalking a few questions. The guy was…. _hot_. Merlin mentally kicked himself as that was horribly inappropriate as the victim was very pale and sweaty and shaking and close to a panic attack but he was dressed like he came straight out of one of the those stupid fucking University brochures they send out to prospective students. The ones depicting some sexy young professor in a cashmere sweater rolled up to the elbows and pants just a hair too tight to really be appropriate.

But then he _looked_ at Merlin and it was like he saw right into his soul. There was something about him that made Merlin want to calm him down and comfort him and keep all of his demons at bay. He was too close and he had _just_ met him. Merlin learned long ago not to let himself get close to anyone.

And he had broken _so many_ rules.

> _RULE NUMBER SEVENTEEN: If you can help it, don’t let non-magical people see you use magic._
> 
> _RULE NUMBER NINETEEN: When dealing with Victims, follow the established protocol as described in the Emrys Project._
> 
> _RULE NUMBER TWENTY THREE: Never let a non-magical person into the workshop._

“We’re here.”

Arthur raises his eyebrows but makes no comment. The Rising Sun sits empty as they shuffle past the front windows, chairs still stacked atop tables, only one single light in the back storage room lit. A layer of frost is slowly melting against the panes, condensation catching on the sprawling script announcing the name of the business and the minimalist drawing of a coffee cup.

Merlin turns down the alley beside the building and takes the rickety stairs up to the landing for the second floor. He presses his palm against the rough wood painted dark as pitch and lets his magic seep into the door, waits for the Wards to recognize him and hears the familiar hum granting him entrance.

The door swings open seemingly of its own volition and Merlin flicks on the lights and grabs a handful of books off one of the overflowing shelves in an attempt to salvage how far his night has careened off its usual track before he realizes his guest is just standing there, staring.

Merlin glances around the workshop and tries to see it from Arthur’s eyes. It looks nearly identical to how it appeared when he stepped foot inside the first time: all the archaic equipment spread out along the tables lining the room; the two desks that face each other right in the center of the room; windows blocked by heavy bookshelves lined with tomes yellowed with age; herbs and flowers and all sorts of organic matter drying and curing along the walls of the back room; the jars of scary and terrifying things you don’t have names for tucked away on shelves; a wobbly chalkboard and equally ratty couch shoved in the front corner.

Now it’s a bit different. Amidst all the ancient equipment there’s gears and circuit boards and wires and one desk has a monitor and modem that look like something out of a 1980’s sci-fi film. Merlin made due with what Gaius could get his hands on, not that he begrudged the man. He did the best he could under minimal (see: nonexistent) funding.

Merlin clears his throat and Arthur’s intense blue eyes are on him. He looks younger in this lighting and Merlin wonders if his initial assessment was wrong, maybe he’s closer to Merlin’s age than he thought. He might be a grad student too. “There’s some towels in the bathroom if you want to try to clean up.” He gestures vaguely at the soiled state of the other man’s clothing.

Arthur sneers in distaste as he pinches some of the soot coating his sweater between the pads of his fingers. “What is this?”

Merlin shouldn’t answer. You aren’t supposed to hand out information. Rule Number Twenty Six. 

He answers anyway. “Shadow dust.”

Arthur opens and closes his mouth. “Right,” he says and Merlin points him toward the bathroom.

The other man bites his lip as he looks around the room but then just shakes his head and steps around Merlin to head to the door right at the end of the counter. As soon as it shuts, Merlin puts his head in his hands and lets out a long breath.

> _RULE NUMBER FOUR: When you feel unsure with how to proceed, run through the information you know._

A _Hellhound_ attacked a student.

_No_ , he can practically hear his own teacher hissing in his ear, _you need to be specific_. 

Specifically, a _Hellhound_ appeared out of the Ether through a portal, chased a student clear across campus never _once_ losing its focus, and _bit_ him while trying to drag him back into the Ether. And now the _Hellhound_ has his scent and the moment the Victim leaves Merlin’s side the creature is sure to appear again to finish the job.

It’s certainly not the best case scenario.

The _Hellhound_ itself isn’t the problem. A few times over the years the beasts would run into the world, almost exclusively in graveyards at tombstones with devout visitors. The type of mourners who come week after week to grieve, leaving their sorrow clinging to the grave the way tobacco clings to a chain smoker’s favorite jacket. The beasts were born of sorrow and pain and agony and were drawn to it, they couldn't resist. 

What was odd about this _Hellhound_ was its sudden appearance, its juvenile status, and the fact that it didn’t _run_ the moment Merlin stepped foot into the alley. Creatures of the Ether and Sorcerers didn’t mix. But the _Hellhound_ stood its ground in the face of Merlin’s magic and jumped back into the Ether of its own volition.

What’s really pissing him off is there is _no reason_ he can figure why it didn’t appear on their software. They always did in the past. Even with the parade of monsters du jour constantly sending them on a frantic hunt, his program has been running flawlessly. 

And the larger problem….it _bit_ a non-magical person. _Hellhounds_ hardly pay any attention to people, magic or not. Merlin’s fairly certain in the entire history of the operation this has never happened. Or if it has, the non-magical person hasn’t lived to tell the tale.

Merlin flips open one of the heavy tomes on his lap to the page on _Hellhounds_. A woman with a flowing cloak and eyes dark as night stares up at him from the page. A prone figure is painted red at her feet with a dozen or so creatures circling her, heads turned to the sky in a uniform howl. The beginning of an idea is itching right at the edge of his mind. It’s stupid and risky but that doesn’t necessarily mean it’s not going to work.

Before the concept is fully formed the Wards start humming and the door to the workshop slams open. The person holding all his hopes and dreams stumbles inside looking red faced and wind blown. Merlin certainly appreciates her hustle.

“ _Merlin_.”

He holds up a hand to stop her. “I know.” 

Freya has a tendency to ramble when she’s nervous, or at least that’s what Merlin’s gathered these past few months she’s been training. Having someone attacked on her very first night on her own has sent her babbling.

Her eyes are enormous saucers. “Do you _know_ who that _was_?”

“Yes -- wait, how do _you_ know him?”

Freya’s jaw drops like Merlin has committed some sort of heinous offense. “ _Merlin_ , that was Arthur DeBois, the single _hottest_ piece of ass in the English Department --”

“Stop,” Merlin tries to warn but Freya is hard to talk down when she’s really worked up.

“-- you should hear the things the girls on my floor say about him, God. The way they talk you’d think he’d make you come in your pants just by smiling at you.”

Merlin ignores her look of “am I right?” and nods toward the bathroom. “He’s in there.”

Her face goes horrified and she clutches a hand to her chest. “ _Oh my god_ ,” she hisses, “do you think he _heard_ me?”

From the bathroom Arthur says, “he heard you.”

Freya goes bright red and mouths, _oh my god_. She tries to lunge for the door but Merlin blocks her path and gives her a pointed look to the chair by her desk. She stomps over to the seat and grabs her trademark baseball cap to bury her face in it. He spares a moment’s gratitude he hasn’t taught her how to make herself invisible or he’s sure she’d be doing just that.

“You aren’t going anywhere, _we_ have work to do.”

Freya nods and swallows, eyes bright and hopeful as she puts the cap on backwards. “You have a plan?”

Merlin gives her a look of mock hurt. “Of course I do.” He throws the book at her. “We’re going to Summon it.”

Freya flips into calculating mode and narrows her eyes as she studies the page. She’s far more dedicated than any of his previous students. Probably more dedicated than Merlin was as a student too. “If we’re Summoning it then what are we using as a Lure?” 

Merlin resolutely does not look at the bathroom door but Freya is also his smartest Apprentice to date and puts the pieces together herself. He’d be more proud if she didn’t look so shocked and appalled at Merlin’s idea. Her expression goes horrified again and she mouths, _oh my fucking god_. 

“Him?” she hisses in a shrill whisper that Merlin’s pretty sure Arthur can still hear. “We’re going to use him as _bait_?”

“It’s going to be fine,” Merlin lies. “Trust me.” He gives her as genuine a smile as he can muster. “This is what being Emrys is all about.”

\--

Being special is a lonely endeavor. 

Merlin learned this lesson young, though the world has taken it upon itself to make sure it’s one he doesn’t forget.

The lesson was first imparted on a playground, as is the case with many important life lessons. He was out at recess playing with his classmates, jumping from one piece of equipment to another in an elaborate game of “Don’t Touch the Lava” when a man with a hatchet sunk right into his skull ran onto the playground and no one but him turned to look. No one but him even seemed to notice. He released the monkey bars and crashed to the earth with a shrill scream. The children all turned to look at him wondering if this was part of the game. Not a single person looked at the corpse stumbling across the mulch, his overalls stained dark, his left arm dangling loose and useless at his side. The man kept advancing, passing a few of his classmates, eyes black as coal, dark as the shadows that pool beneath children’s beds. His gaze was locked on Merlin. 

Merlin shut his eyes tight enough to see stars and thrust his hands out in front of him. There was a feeling not dissimilar to lava where his body flashed hot from head to toe. By the time he opened his eyes the man was gone and all his classmates were staring at him with their mouths wide open. 

He screamed again, shrill enough that all the birds nearby took flight.

While he sobbed quiet hiccuping breaths in the nurse’s office, he could hear his teachers talking to his mother in hushed, concerned tones.

_A lot of children have overactive imaginations but this, this is_ dark _\--_

_And he’s so distressed you might want to seek outside --_

_It really scared the other children so we just need to be sure something like this isn’t going to happen again, for everyone’s sake._

Merlin distinctly remembers feeling like something was horribly wrong with him. It was the first time he learned that feeling different -- that _being_ different meant you were going to spend an awful lot of time by yourself.

That night his mother settled him into his bed and asked him if he ever saw anything else that no one else could see.

“No!” he insisted, afraid. Even without a full grasp of the situation he realized it was bad to see things that others couldn’t. It was bad to not be just like everyone else.

His mother brushed back his hair and shook her head, tried to assure him that there was nothing wrong with him, but even then Merlin knew better.

She asked again if he could see things that no one else could.

Merlin chewed on his lip and tried to think. He’d never seen anyone with something sticking out of their head before, never seen anyone who looked like they should be dead, but he had seen odd things, sometimes. There was that boy in the funny hat who sometimes ran down the street by the bakery, sometimes it seemed like he ran _through_ people. And there were tall creatures, dark and mysterious that swayed behind the ears of corn in the fields at the end of summer. Merlin always thought the scarecrows were just bad at their jobs. And there was that thing that would ooze out of their cellar and Merlin never let himself look directly at it.

He decided to share something that felt safer. “Well…I saw one of Mr. Higgins chickens breathe fire.”

His mother blinked a few times and then nodded. “Did anyone else see it?”

Merlin shook his head. “No, Will was looking right at it but he said it was just the sun or something.” Merlin crossed his arms, pouting. Will had teased Merlin about lying for the rest of the day until they invented a game where one of them would be the fire breathing chicken and chase the other.

His mother took a steadying breath. “There’s a world that most people can’t see. It exists right beside ours and most people go through their whole lives without realizing it.” She swallowed. “I can’t even see it that well.”

“ _Why_?”

His mother shook her head. “I don’t know.” This was also the first time Merlin learned adults did not hold all the answers. Another lesson the world would do its due diligence to impart. She paused as her eyes landed on a picture tacked to Merlin’s wall. “Your father could see things too.” She smiled and Merlin felt his eyes grow wide. His mother hardly ever talked about his father and Merlin learned early that asking questions provided no answers.

“ _He did_?” If his father saw funny things then it couldn’t be that bad.

His mother looked sad. “Yes, we’d been hoping -- well, _I’ve_ been hoping -- that maybe you wouldn’t be able to see those things.”

Merlin felt scared again and drew the blankets up to his neck. “Why?”

His mother smiled but it didn’t feel like a real smile. She didn’t look happy. “The man you saw today, did it scare you?” Merlin felt his cheeks flush in embarrassment but he nodded. “The world that you’re able to see….it has a lot of scary things in it. I didn’t want you to have to be a part of that world. To live in fear.”

Merlin sat up in bed. “How do I stop? How do I stop seeing things?” He could do it. He would work hard and turn it off. If no one else saw anything then it couldn’t be that hard to do.

His mother patted his hand. “I don’t know, Merlin. But I have an old friend of your father’s who might be able to help. To teach you. He’s going to come visit next week.”

Merlin’s eyes grew even wider. “Teach me what?”

The next smile was the saddest one yet. “Magic.”

\--

Shadow dust thick and cloying paints his skin and soaks his clothes as Arthur stands alone in an alley behind a coffee shop he frequents far too often, absentmindedly opening and closing his messages, and tries to convince himself that this is all a horrible dream. 

The wind picks up with a sharp whistle as if to contradict him.

Freya had returned his phone while blushing furiously. Arthur decided to pretend that her incredibly awkward comment had not happened and moved on from the situation. Arthur was a master at pretending things hadn’t happened, it was a lesson his father had taught him well. 

He slides open the messages again, desperate to tell someone that he’s _alive_ but no idea who he would share the information with. He thought he was going to be sworn to secrecy by these two strange people before he realized there was no need. No one would believe him. And more than that, no one is even concerned that he never made it home. He wonders if Merlin hadn’t made it in time, hadn’t saved him, how long would it take for anyone to know something was wrong. His roommate Elyan might notice but the two of them hardly ever see each other and when they do they certainly don’t talk. All Arthur knows about him is that he’s far cleaner than Arthur and he works downtown in accounting or something equally banal and he should probably look for another job because his boss makes him work insane hours. If the situation were reversed, he probably wouldn’t notice Elyan had disappeared for weeks.

But Morgana would notice next week when he didn’t show up for their monthly dinner. Probably. Although now that he’s thinking about it the two of them tend to mainly discuss their escapist fantasy where they leave their current lives and disappear without so much as a goodbye. She might think he finally had the courage to do it.

The only person that would likely notice anything amiss right away would be his advisor. And only because he wasn’t showing up to teach his classes.

It’s not a comforting realization.

Perhaps that’s how Freya and Merlin, the only people who knew what happened to him, the only people who wanted to ensure it didn’t happen again, talked Arthur into doing this.

“That’s great!” Freya yells from the railing on the second floor landing. “Look really uninterested!”

The man who does not want to be called Emrys shakes his head and mumbles something that sounds an awful lot like, “Jesus Christ.”

“I’m trying to be encouraging!” she hisses back. The man looks like he’s fighting a smile as he turns his eyes back on Arthur and Arthur’s gut gives a low swoop as he snaps his gaze back to his phone.

Even if he wasn’t half convinced this is an insane dream, that this is an elaborately cruel prank devised by Morgana for reasons he can’t quite figure, that there is a perfectly _logical_ explanation that someone is going to deliver any minute now, there’s _still_ a chance he would have agreed to Merlin’s plan. There’s a possibility he would have agreed to just about anything Merlin said. He’s choosing to blame it on the surreal nature of the events that have transpired.

Because this isn’t real. It can’t be. There’s no such thing as magic and monsters and whatever else is going on in that strange workshop. That’s what he tried to tell himself as he stood in the bathroom and gripped the cool porcelain sink, letting the chill of the ceramic seep into his too hot hands, staring at the place where the offwhite tile met the grime on his skin.

The bathroom had been shockingly normal given the room that lies just beyond. It was small and cramped and had the same slightly rusted look that all the historical buildings on campus have with barely enough room to turn abound.

He found he didn’t want to leave this blessed spot of normality, instead staring at his reflection in the mirror: his ashen skin, the lines coming in right at the corner of his eyes, the purple bags under his eyes. He told himself that the bags were a new development but it seemed he was at his capacity for lying for the moment. 

_You don’t have to try so hard_ , Morgana told him the last time he saw her. _Everyone already thinks the sun shines out of your ass_.

But he wasn’t working himself to the bone for anyone but himself. Which is why he needed to remove himself from the strange world he had fallen into as soon as possible. He’s not about to lose everything he’s worked for because of...monsters.

When Arthur emerged, Freya was dutifully avoiding eye contact with Arthur by sitting in front of an enormous computer and typing in a series of complicated commands. Or that’s what it looked like to Arthur, he’s never been terribly tech savvy. On the second monitor there appeared to be an aerial map of the campus with a radar-like line sweeping clockwise around the image. There were several glowing dots. Arthur did not want to think about what they might be so he walked to stand by Merlin, bent over a book.

The almost curls from earlier were all but dissipated as Merlin had clearly run his hands through his hair one too many times. He didn’t glance over at Arthur’s approach and for some reason Arthur wanted to _push_ , to get a reaction, to prove that something about this absurd night was in his control.

“This isn’t real,” he said. “I think everyone would know if magic was real.”

Merlin didn’t even look up at him. “Whatever you have to tell yourself.”

That desire to push flared again so he pressed harder, turned on the arrogance and entitlement bred into him that he usually did his level best to repress. “Isn’t your job to explain what happened to me?”

An expression of amusement flickered across Merlin’s face and the feeling of triumph seared through Arthur’s veins. It was a dangerous expression. The sort of expression Arthur would do just about anything to see again, something he would prove to himself in the very near future.

“My job is actually to stop an army of monsters from taking over the campus and to tell you as little as possible while doing it. It’s protocol.” He narrowed his eyes and appraised Arthur. Arthur wondered if he had the same urge, to push, to challenge, to figure out what made him tick. “And everyone does know about magic, they just pretend they don’t.”

Arthur snorted before he could stop himself. “I think I’d remember if I’d been chased by a vicious beast before.”

Merlin quirked an eyebrow, lips tilted right at the corner of his mouth in an expression Arthur was becoming intimately familiar with. The amusement was back and seemingly more dangerous than before. “Most of it doesn’t look like that. Have you ever seen something out of the corner or your eye only to look and it’s gone? Or felt like you were being watched when you know you’re alone? Or seen something terrifying right when you wake up, before you are fully conscious?”

“Well….yes.” Arthur didn’t like the uncomfortable knot that tied up his stomach at Merlin’s words. “But everyone has.”

Merlin nodded. “Right. _Everyone_ has seen magic, your brain just tells you it’s something it’s not.”

Without taking her eyes off the screen Freya mumbled, “it’s a good thing you’re such a _stickler_ for protocol, Emrys.”

Merlin flipped her off and went back to his books.

And then somehow the two of them managed to convince Arthur the only way to make certain the monster didn’t bother him again was to lure it back to the world of the living and send it back to where it came from with Arthur standing front and center. And Arthur, for all he loves to argue, didn’t have any sort of counter argument because he’s never been out of his depth quite like this before.

The wind whistles again, high-pitched and shrieking and the fog is back. He might as well be walking away from the library again, watching the events of the night play out once more. Complete with a man coming to his rescue like he’s some sort of damsel in distress.

He almost laughs at the idea. What would his father say if he knew he was unabashedly letting someone else fight his battles? Although he can't deny that he'd love to see Uther Pendragon's face when he found out that magic is real.

All amusement vanishes as a low growl rumbles the ground beneath his feet.

\--

Magic is more instinctive than anything else. It’s why there’s so much training involved in the Operation. The magic is going to try to act before you can decide what you want it to do. Unprepared Sorcerers don’t make it very long in life. Something as simple as halting a dropped coffee cup could end with third degree burns if you aren’t careful.

With practiced ease Merlin waits, as the temperature drops, as the mist gathers, as the world cracks just a hair and a door to the Ether opens. Freya tenses beside him, muscles ready to jump, her own magic already sparking at her fingertips, but still Merlin waits.

A whine sounds, higher pitched than the wind.

Anguish punches his chest with a clawed fist as a snarl rings through the alley. Freya sucks in wet breath and he watches as Arthur turns toward the creature, eyes wide but standing his ground just as Merlin instructed. Arthur is very brave. Or maybe just really stupid. Merlin doesn’t have time to figure out which it is.

From the portal steps the _Hellhound_. Merlin has never seen one this close before. They don’t like Sorcerers enough to stick around and Merlin can usually toss them back into the Ether with nothing but a freshly dead rabbit to eat. This one is so small it must be young. It makes it all the more confusing why it would come to this world.

The beast sinks low on its front paws, ready to lunge.

That’s when Merlin moves.

He vaults over the railing, magic burning through him to ease his fall, to push the force through his feet when he hits the ground with a thud.

The beast roars and Merlin crouches low his own teeth bared, eyes gold as his magic sears his veins. The _Hellhound_ lets out a scream and jumps, barreling straight into Merlin.

Merlin’s head hits the pavement with a thud and from the corner of his eye he can see Arthur has done as instructed and shifted toward the stairs in case he needs to make a break for the workroom. But then the beast is on him again, heavy paw on his shoulders, hot, acrid breath in his face.

Merlin’s magic surges sharp to dispel the beast in a huge wave of power but he quells it with a quick breath. The beast isn’t going anywhere. It’s exactly where Merlin wants it to be.

“NOW!” Merlin yells.

And then the scene is painted red as blood rains from the sky. It splatters against the creature and Merlin and he nearly gags at the sharp metallic scent, blinks against the stinging in his eyes. The beast tilts its nose up and its red eyes glow brighter as it smells the pig's blood. Another wave crashes on them as Freya dumps the next bucket over the railing.

Distracted.

Merlin pulls on his magic, lets the world go cold around him and inside of him, ice seeping into his veins. His eyes go dark and turn obsidian black as he pushes at the space where the world ends and cracks it just a bit himself. The door opens again and with a surge of power he throws the beast back into the Ether, howling in agony as it goes.

And then silence.

He shuts his eyes against how bright the world is, though it’s still night. Whenever he taps into the magic of the Ether it takes him a moment to come back to this world. The moment seems to last longer each time he does it. A distant sort of fear settles into him as he realizes there may be a time when he never comes back.

“Are you alright?”

He opens his eyes to see a golden figure crouching beside him, clothes dark with ash and splattered with blood, hair shining like a halo from the one shitty porchlight lit right beside the door to the workshop. This man is at odds with the dark world around them.

“Sorry about your sweater.”

Arthur looks down and then back at Merlin with his mouth opened as if he’s not sure if he’s allowed to laugh. Merlin finds that he wishes he would.

Freya stumbles her way down the stairs with a bucket of water and stops before the two men with a grin. “See? Easy peasy. Now it won’t be able to smell you anymore. And by the time it gets the blood out of its fur, it will have forgotten all about you.” She winks. “ _Hellhounds_ have notoriously short attention spans.” Freya is certainly going to be far better at the “dealing with people” aspect of this job than Merlin has ever been.

Merlin jumps to his feet and cracks his neck. He might be getting too old to jump from the second story of buildings. He looks up to see Arthur watching him. “So….” he says, suddenly feeling awkward. Monsters he can deal with just fine but people have never been his forte. “You’re free to go.”

But he doesn’t want Arthur to go, with his stupid tight pants and soft sweater, and wide-eyed expression like he’s already convinced himself this is a dream, and his almost-amusement at Merlin’s antics.

Merlin fumbles around in his belt before he pulls out a business card. “Feel free to call me if anything else weird or horrifying happens.” He ignores the surge of electricity where Arthur’s fingers brush against his. Arthur is a sun and if Merlin isn’t careful he’s going to be pulled in and burn.

A step back makes him feel safer. It’s time to scrub the blood out of this alley and scrub his feelings out of his veins. Merlin turns to help Freya when Arthur’s voice calls out to him.

“Am I going to turn into a werewolf?”

Merlin blinks at the absurdity of the question and is looking at Arthur before he can stop himself. “Werewolves aren’t real.” Or, he’s pretty sure they aren’t real. As far as he’s aware other than demon possession, there isn’t any transmission of disease or otherwise between beasts and humans.

Arthur tilts his head to the side. It’s an arrogant look that would normally make Merlin roll his eyes but on Arthur it almost looks like it’s a joke. Merlin finds he wants to know the punchline. 

“You’re right,” Arthur says, “how stupid of me. _Of course_ werewolves aren’t real. I should have known that.”

Merlin feels his face split into a grin. He likes Arthur. And that just won’t do.

His smile falls. “You should go.”

Arthur looks around at the ground, the shadow dust and pools of blood and then at Freya scrubbing at the ground with her tongue between her teeth in concentration. Nothing gets out shadow dust as good as good ol' fashioned elbow grease. “And do what?”

“Go back to your life. Your _normal_ life. Forget this.” Merlin shakes his head and grabs a broom with a brush nearly as long as its handle. “You have a choice to leave this all behind. You should take it.”

But Arthur just keeps surprising Merlin. “What would you do,” he asks, ice blue eyes pinning Merlin right where he stands, “if you had a choice?”

No one has ever asked him that before. No one has ever given him the intoxicating notion that choices exist.

Merlin tilts his head to look up at the moon, fat and swollen and seemingly too low in the sky or maybe Merlin’s just being fanciful. But it’s a fanciful notion, the idea that he’s not Emrys. He could just be a normal grad student, worried about his thesis research and whether or not his advisor likes him or is just pretending to like him or if he’s annoyed that Merlin just can’t seem to get his software together. Or better, he could meet Arthur by bumping into him at the coffee shop instead of soaked in blood in the alley behind it. He could flirt back and mean it and let himself try to fall in love.

He could go home.

A cloud passes right in front of the moon and Merlin’s world is shadows once more. “If I had a choice,” Merlin says, squeezing his eyes shut and being more honest than he has in a long time, “I’d do anything to not have to do this.”

Tomorrow he needs to check on the _harpies_ nesting in Alice’s gutters and begin an investigation into the _Hellhound’s_ appearance and check on the various reports about a river monster to see if they hold any merit and go over their software to see why their code failedand start preparing for a meeting with his advisor and whatever else just so happens to come up. He’s already exhausted and it’s still technically today.

What he wouldn’t give for that to not be the case.

It's a long moment but Arthur finally takes his advice. By the time Merlin opens his eyes, Arthur is gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I work best on a schedule so let's say updates will be on Wednesdays.
> 
> Comments and kudos are the best :)


	3. Chapter 3

It’s early, the sun is not yet kissing the horizon as the Resident Emrys shuffles down the street and up the stairs on something like autopilot. Fuck, he really should have grabbed a cup of coffee. 

His Apprentice starts talking before he even steps through the door.

“Before you yell at me, you should know Morgause Gorlois called.” Freya’s head is peeking over the large monitor in the dead center of the workshop, her trademark baseball cap backwards on her head, brown hair long and loose around her shoulders. “She wants to talk to you. She seemed…. _angry_.” The last word is said in a mock whisper.

Merlin grinds his teeth and shoots a longing glance toward the recently polished alley and wonders if he should quit before the day really starts. He could make a break for it instead of facing the inevitable bad news. But he’s not going to, he never does, so he lets the door swing shut with a satisfying thud behind him and listens for the quiet thrum as the Wards kick back into action. 

“She’s always angry,” Merlin says.

Morgause Gorlois is essentially a state-sanctioned bounty hunter hired by the city to deal with the monster bullshit plaguing downtown and the suburbs. She only sought out Merlin when whatever otherworldly nonsense she was dealing with affected the University or was beyond her capabilities. More often than not, it was the latter and Merlin dealt with her far more often than he liked.

She also _hates_ Merlin for reasons he doesn’t fully understand but this is unrelated.

He shoots Freya a skeptical look. “And I don’t yell at you that much.” Merlin rarely yells. Adopting a disappointed tone and employing scathing commentary is more his speed. 

Freya opens her mouth but at the look on Merlin’s face shuts it, clearly not wanting to press her luck. “She seemed angrier than usual.”

“Yeah, well that’s probably because I’ve been screening her calls and she had to go through _you_.”

Merlin glances toward the coffee pot and nearly weeps when he sees Freya has blessedly brewed some this morning. She is worth keeping around solely for that reason alone. Merlin’s first Apprentice never did shit like that. If Freya keeps Merlin caffeinated enough, maybe she’d be able to pass training and Merlin could finally hand over the title he’s worn for far too long.

And he _likes_ Freya, she’s like the little sister he never had, quick with a joke and near charming with her slight southern accent juxtaposed with language that would put a sailor to shame. He certainly prefers her to his last Apprentice, Gilli. He was too full of himself and favored showmanship over genuine skill. The first time they came across a banshee in the field he tried to summon a fireball that set himself ablaze instead of the creature.

He hadn’t even made it two months.

But Freya Delia hadn’t quit yet. And she worked hard and didn’t get too annoyed when she had to pick up after Merlin and wasn’t afraid to tell Merlin she was too busy with schoolwork for extra training. Merlin likes that she puts up boundaries. She’s fierce and independent and just might have what it takes to do this.

Plus, there’s no way in _hell_ he’s ever going to find another Apprentice who can _code_.

“Is this about the _pixies_?” Merlin asks, pouring himself a generous cup in a mug he really hopes is clean. Freya is neater than he is so it probably is. Or if not, it’s probably _his_ dirty mug which somehow makes it marginally less disgusting to use.

The _pixies_ are the latest problem on Merlin’s to-do list. Much as Merlin might want to keep looking into Arthur DeBois and his ridiculously chiseled jawline, the _Hellhound_ Case has been pushed to the low priority file. Merlin would likely never look at it again seeing as soon as they solve one high priority case, two more take its place. It’s for the best. Nothing good ever comes from getting too invested in someone. Perhaps Merlin should be thankful that a band of _pixies_ decided to break into one of the freshman dorms over the weekend and steal whatever shiny objects caught their attention. _Pixies_ are relatively easy to deal with but their sharp little piranha teeth hurt like a son-of-a-bitch. Merlin’s ankles are still stinging from their bites last night.

“Not as such…” Freya trails off and Merlin hits her with an expectant raise of his brows like he does when they are out in the field and he expects Freya to identify a monster or list appropriate ways to send it back to the Ether. “But I did ask….”

Merlin blows a breath across the surface of his coffee, watching the ripples catch on the edge and sputter. “So now she knows about the _pixies_ , the fact that there’s a whole group of students and parents pissed off about the missing items, and I’m guessing she didn’t tell you why she wants to see me?”

Freya gives a wan smile. “Sorry?”

Merlin takes a long drink that burns his throat. “Fantastic,” he chokes. “Anything else?”

Freya fiddles with the ends of her hair. Bad news then. “Gaius wanted me to let you know that the meeting with the President got pushed up to Friday.”

“ _Friday_! But we just had one at the beginning of the semester!”

Freya nods and winces.

“Great.” Yearly meetings with the President of the university were always a grueling affair. Each year Merlin was convinced that the whole program would be axed and the new President that took over at the onset of this semester seemed _hellbent_ on making that happen. “Any other good news? Is there a _Manticore_ on the Scanner, perhaps strutting the halls of Pendragon? Ready to sting unsuspecting business students right before the oxymoron that is their Business Ethics midterm?”

Freya gives a nervous grin, flicking her gaze back to the monitor. “Not yet. Just the _harpies_.” Shit, he still hadn’t cleared out the _harpies_. Freya shifts her gaze back to Merlin. “But if it’s good news you’re after, I think I passed my Calculus midterm. And the cute guy who works the main desk at IT told me I had a nice smile,” she adds, beaming from ear-to-ear.

Merlin gives a half-hearted eye roll. Freya is a hopeless romantic who seems determined to get her heart broken as many times as she can. Or at least that’s how it looks from where Merlin is standing. She falls in love faster than anyone Merlin has ever met. “Thought you were gone on that girl in your Programming Methodology class?”

Freya sighs and her eyes take on a dreamy look. “I am. She’s prettier than the moon, Merlin.”

Merlin takes another sip of coffee and scowls at the bitter taste. The irony that they must have the absolute shittiest coffee on campus and they are located above a coffee shop is not lost on him. “I don’t think that’s quite as poetic as you seem to believe.” He takes out his phone to update the calendar. “What time is the meeting?”

A nervous sort of grin. “9:00 am. His office.” At the look on Merlin’s face she adds, “at least Gaius will be there.”

Merlin shakes his head. “You’re lucky I’m not going to make _you_ come.”

Freya snorts. “Yeah, you’re a real saint. Making me catch a _pixie_ with my bare fucking hands when you had a net the whole time.”

Merlin fights back a grin. He underwent the same test when he was an Apprentice. “It’s good to learn how to think on your feet.” 

Freya merely raises her middle finger while he snickers to himself and makes his way to the exit.

He stops just beside the door and raps his knuckle against the “Days Since the Last Incident” sign until he has Freya’s attention. “Need to update this.”

Freya heaves a heavy sigh. “Think we’ll ever make it past five days?”

The second summer Merlin trained as an Apprentice the number had climbed all the way to sixty-three. He spent long nights up on the roof with his own teacher watching the patterns of the stars and lamenting the state of the world. It seems like a long ago and distant dream.

“Here’s hoping, kid.”

\--

Camelot University is a study in contradictions.

The campus is a confusing amalgamation of warring architecture styles from every time period since the city of Camelot was founded. The campus is located just north of the city itself, surrounded by the remnants of walls from a military fort that never once actually saw any battles and its delaptiation is the culprit of time alone. Well, time and the inefficiencies of the Camelot Historic Preservation Society for most of the late 1900’s.

Darkling Woods push right against the southern and eastern edges of campus. Even without the signs declaring “no trespassing” the forest itself is dark and creepy enough to foster plenty of rumors about ghosts and hauntings to keep even the most daring students out. Though Arthur can’t help but wonder if those rumors hold more truth than he realized.

Then there’s the river that snakes its way along the north side of campus until it turns into Darkling Wood. And it probably would be beautiful if not for the 100 years of pollutants dumped into it before anyone realized they might need to do something about it.

And evidently, Arthur thinks as he heads through the heart of campus, the charming colonial houses, tree lined streets, and groups of students laughing as they bask in the sun of a unseasonably warm November day are all a front for a dark and dangerous world of mythical creatures.

Arthur politely waves and smiles as he makes his way to the Humanities building, passing far too many people who seem to know him, or at least know _of_ him. The smile feels forced and stretched and he’s not sure it comes across as friendly as he’s going for but it doesn’t deter one of his students from talking his ear off for several minutes so he can’t look too unpleasant. Either that or people really don’t give a fuck about social cues anymore.

Normally he doesn’t mind the attention but Arthur is in the midst of what might be an existential crisis.

He’s never been a fickle person. In fact, he would argue that his ability to make swift, well-informed decisions is one his most admirable qualities. It solved disputes amongst childhood friends choosing what movie to watch, arguments with his peers about whose turn it was to clean the community coffee pot, and vicious fights between his father and sister during his teenage years. It’s the type of skill that always pushed him into the role of leader whether or not he had volunteered for the position, though he always did volunteer.

But the Monster Thing has really thrown him.

_Go back to your life. Your normal life. Forget this._

The words play on a loop. Advice easily given and impossible to take.

When he cuts through the shock and impossibility of the problem he's left with two choices: he can pretend that nothing happened and try to go back to his life as it was or he can accept that monsters exist and there is an entire world he knows _nothing_ about.

He can’t stop thinking about it. The fact that monsters are real, the fact that magic is real, the fact that anyone around him might know about it, or might _not_ know about it but might have encountered it at some point. And, most irritating of all, they might know _more_ than he does. Arthur likes information. He likes to be in on the same joke as everyone else. He hasn’t felt left out in so long he’s not sure he’s ever experienced this sensation. It’s _annoying_.

The _safest_ decision is to push all of these thoughts deep into the recesses of his mind, lock the vault tight, and make sure not to open it even on his darkest nights.

So he tried. Arthur told himself he wasn’t going to think about it -- wasn’t _allowed_ to think about it. This past week he poured himself into his research and taught his class and put together lectures for hypothetical lessons he probably won’t teach in the Spring and scrubbed his apartment from top to bottom (twice) and tried not to walk alone at night and constantly found his eyes darting to the shadows of their own accord.

And all the while he was haunted by those words: _Go back to your normal life. Forget this._

As if that was the _easy_ alternative. As if _forgetting_ itself was easy. As if it was possible to just go home at 4:00 in the morning covered in pigs’ blood and strip off your clothes and wonder if laundry detergent even gets out _Shadow Dust_ before deciding you have to burn them and then go back to anything that looks _normal_.

As if it was possible to forget the man who saved his life and turned his world upside down and smiled a small crooked thing like it had been too long since he’d done it properly and then when the man _really_ smiled it lit up his whole fucking face until it vanished just as fast.

 _Forget this_ , the monster hunter said, bathed in blood and breathtaking enough to make Arthur’s heart ache _._

Fat chance.

The Humanities Building is one of the oldest on campus, decorated with looming stone gargoyles that look far more ominous than usual. All though maybe Arthur hasn’t been paying close enough attention. He keeps his head down as he heads inside and climbs the stairs. He’s not sure he has the energy for any more inane conversation. He stops at the end of the English Department corridor and the door swings open before Arthur can raise his hand to knock. Arthur can stop his mind from supplying the word, _magic_.

“You’re late.”

The greeting is clipped and spoken to the room as his advisor has already turned her back to make her way to the desk.

Right, not magic. Because magic is….something he’s going to deal with later.

Arthur adjusts the strap of his new messenger bag and steps into the office. It’s clean and polished, and almost aching in its familiarity, in its _normality:_ the shiny mahogany shelves, the furniture the same standard outdated 70’s style the whole building is subject to, and the always present woody potpourri scent of balsam and herbs that is nearly overpowering.

“Dr. Caerleon,” he greets. “I must have misunderstood. I thought the meeting was scheduled for 10:00.”

A raised eyebrow, a challenge. “It was. If you aren’t ten minutes early, you are wasting my time, DeBois.”

Arthur bites back a smile and shakes his head. He’s not too proud to admit he was terrified of Dr. Caerleon when he first met the woman (he _is_ too proud to admit he’s still a bit terrified). She is strict and intelligent and doesn't put up with anyone’s bullshit. She’s intimidating and ambitious and has a stare that made undergraduates cower in fear and Department Heads fold and cave to her will. One of the first lessons you learn in the English Department is not to have Dr. Caerleon as an enemy, it’s far more advantageous to have her as an ally. Arthur likes to believe she’s on his side.

On the desk before her is a stack of papers looking rather like a wounded animal with all the red ink sunk into the paper.

“I hope that’s not mine.”

She hits him with a disdainful expression. “Don’t pull that insecure facade in this office, DeBois. I know you are more than well aware of your own talent.” A pleasant warmth cuts through all his feelings of uncertainty and Arthur tries not to let himself grin at the compliment. He does love to be flattered. He doesn’t quite succeed and Dr. Caerleon rolls her eyes. “I wanted to meet with you about something else.” Dr. Caerleon isn’t the touchy-feely sort of professor you share your life story with over a cup of coffee. She’s all about business all the time. Arthur braces for the worst. “You seem distracted lately.”

He’s not sure whether to take it as an accusation or observation.

“I’m….” he trails off not sure where to go. Because he can’t tell this woman the _truth_. She exists so far away from the world of monsters that sitting in this office it’s almost possible to pretend what happened wasn’t real.

Almost. Not quite.

He studies Dr. Caerleon’s face, lips pressed together and a slight line between her brows. If it were any other professor he might think they were worried about his well being.

He tries for a disarming grin but he’s not sure it’s as charming as usual. “I’ve just been busy doing some additional research.” 

Dr. Caerleon narrows her eyes a fraction and looks like she wants to call him on his bullshit. Arthur is really hoping she doesn’t. He’s not sure he has enough energy to give a truly convincing lie, he’s already expended far too much energy lying to himself.

He's been spending all his time pretending like he had a choice to make. The truth is his decision was made the moment Merlin placed himself between Arthur and the horrors of the world.

Forgetting might be safe but knowledge has a power of its own. 

The thing is….Arthur loves a good story. He loves a plot with intricate threads and twists he didn’t see coming and symbolism that sheds a light on a facet of the actual world. And he’s fallen right into a fantasy thriller. If his life was a story, bleak as the tale would be, it wouldn’t end with a strange night in an alley. That’s where it _starts_. And Arthur has never cracked open a book he didn’t intend to finish.

Two days after deciding he was never going to think about monsters again he caved and Googled the word “Emrys.” The results yielded only websites on the history of Welsh names and a few links to the legends of King Arthur. And ironic as he found it, it wasn’t quite what he was going for.

His next search went through the school database, his findings even less fruitful than the general search. The only thing that came up was an academic merit scholarship by the same name, The Emrys Scholarship. He even tried to search for _Merlin_ in the school directory but the site was annoying and outdated and without his last name Arthur was going to need to scroll through thousands of students. He wasn’t that desperate, yet.

It was another day before he cornered Elena at the library. Elena had been dodging Arthur since Halloween which he found pretty impressive seeing as they shared an office.

He slid a book across the library counter and when her eyes met his they narrowed. “I don’t want to talk about it, Arthur.”

Arthur didn’t understand. It had been a few days since his encounter and all he wanted was _more_. He wanted to seek out other people and understand and make sense of this fantastic world. He wanted to know what kind of monsters lurked in his peripheral. He wanted to know how magic worked, if it was a genetic situation or completely random or something you studied or some strange combination of the above. And, if he’s being completely honest, he wanted to know about a certain monster hunter, how he got the job and why he didn’t just leave if he hated it so much and what kind of music he likes to listen to and where he grew up and how he feels about pineapple on pizza. 

Arthur pouted in mock disappointment. “I know the Early Modern Period isn’t your focus but you have to admit a book on literary monsters has to be interesting.” Elena likes to keep things light and he was hoping if he framed his line of inquiry in the right way, he might not lose her.

She rolled her eyes and he bit back a grin as his plan was working. “I don’t think you’re going to find your answers in there.” It’s the closest she has gotten to admitting that _something_ happened last week. 

“And you won’t give me any answers either?”

She leveled him with a long look before shooting a glance around them. “If it’s answers you’re after, wouldn’t it be better to just go back to the source? Go bother Merlin.”

Arthur pursed his lips. He’d thought about it. Obviously. The man who hunted the monsters, the man who gave him the very command that he couldn’t help but defy. He thought about him more times than he’d care to admit. The business card with Merlin’s information had grown worn around the edges during its brief tenure in Arthur’s pocket. He can’t explain to himself why he hasn’t tried to contact him other than the fact that it was Merlin who sent him away. And Arthur is not ready for another rejection. Yet.

He shook his head. “He didn’t really strike me as someone who enjoyed sharing information.”

She clutched the pendant around her neck and gave him an exasperated look, like he was a lost cause. “Just….be careful.” She looked up at him with her eyes wide in fear. “You aren’t going to like what you find.”

His pulse thudded faster wondering if he was finally going to get another taste of the world of magic. “What makes you say that?”

Her smile was hollow as she said, “first person experience.” 

Guilt pooled low and acidic in his gut as he took in the fear in Elena’s eyes, the way her knuckles were clutching her necklace so tight they were white. He was being a huge asshole. It certainly wasn’t her fault that either of them fell into a world they couldn’t understand. He shouldn’t be pushing Elena. In an effort to apologize he offered to cover her office hours and promised not to bring it up again.

Dr. Caerleon clears her throat and he shakes his head, blinking against the sun coming in through her windows.

“I’m sorry can you repeat the question?”

She studies him for a few long moments. “Did something happen?”

Arthur offers his advisor a shaky smile. “No, nothing specific happened. I’ve just been busy.”

Dr. Caerleon flashes an almost-amused smile, clearly letting the topic drop for the time being. “I think you’ll find you’re preaching to the wrong choir.” 

Maybe Elena is right and he’s been spending way too much time thinking about a world he can’t even see. Maybe there’s a reason most of the people who encounter Merlin take his advice: _Forget this_. Maybe if he spends too much time looking into the dark he’ll forget to pay attention to the light.

Maybe he's spent way too much time these past six years reading Shakespeare.

“Arthur.”

It feels like the room contracts around him.

Dr. Caerleon doesn’t believe in first names. The only time he’s ever heard her call another person by their first name is when they had to comfort one of Arthur’s students who was failing his course after they had a parent die.

She folds her hands on her desk and looks at him with a sympathetic expression. “Your funding didn’t get renewed for next semester.”

There’s a ringing in his ears and he’s not sure he heard her correctly.

He blinks a few times as he tries to process her words. “But it’s a two-year fellowship and I’ve only used one year.”

She rubs a hand across the bridge of her nose and shakes her head. “I know. Believe me, I’ve been in meetings with Bayard for the better part of the past week.” Through the bitter sting of his disappointment he spares a moment to be thankful she was willing to take this all the way to the Dean of their college. “But I wasn’t on the committee and technically all fellowships are up for review. It’s just very….unusual for them to get discontinued.”

“But….” he’s floundering, getting whiplash from spending the morning wondering if the fucking monster from _Beowulf_ is real to slamming into this chair and finding out that everything he’s worked towards might vanish before his eyes. “I’m -- I’m ahead of schedule on my dissertation. And my mid-semester teaching reviews were decent. I’ve never missed a class, I….” He’s been a picture perfect candidate. He doesn’t go out on weekends, he doesn’t have any friends, he doesn’t say “no” when anyone in the department asks him to do _anything_. He’s not even supposed to be teaching this semester, he’s just doing it as a favor.

Dr. Caerleon sends with a carefully blank expression. Like she needs him to get to the answer before she has to tell him.

He works his jaw for a few seconds before asking, “is it my father?”

Guilt lines the corner of her mouth. “The committee didn’t say specifically. But….” there’s a pitying expression now and Arthur swallows down the surge of anger. “Your name might be DeBois in the class registry but it’s still DeBois-Pendragon on any official documentation.”

So, yes.

He can’t believe he’s spent the last few days worried about fantasy creatures and trying to make up elaborate conspiracy theories about a world he can't even see when his _actual_ future hangs in the balance.

“So….I don’t have funding.” Because he’s already used up the full Teaching Fellowship. Which means he’d have to pay for his last year out of pocket or he wouldn’t finish his degree and all this work would have been for nothing. 

But worse than that, it means he’s going to have to _beg_ his father for money which isn’t an option at all. He hasn’t spoken to Uther Pendragon in _years_. Not since he started this program.

The monsters don’t seem so terrifying after all.

\--

Merlin pulls his coat tight and takes the stairs two at a time as if that will do anything to counteract his tardiness. He is five minutes late to his meeting and the administrative assistant greets him with a disdainful smile.

“Merlin.”

Merlin gives a wide, equally insincere grin. “George.”

George flares his nostrils. The two had been roommates freshman year and despite Merlin’s best efforts, George had never quite warmed up to him. Sure Merlin was messy (hard to find time to clean in between monster hunting) and kept abysmal hours (due to late nights fighting supernatural entities) and basically never slept (see: monster hunting) but he was nice which should count for something, right? Or so he thought, until one night he was walking past the lounge on his way to his room he heard George talking about him with the other boys on his floor, making bets on when he’d drop out since he seemed to never go to class and spent all his nights out. George said he’d be surprised if he made it to the Spring Semester and all the boys laughed and bonded at Merlin’s expense.

He opted for a single every year after that.

George stretches his fake smile wider. “The meeting is already underway. I suppose you’ll just have to interrupt.”

Merlin doesn’t bother responding and braces himself for the worst.

Merlin didn’t have any problems with the last president. He was a little odd and tried too hard to be “hip” with the students. But the only thing that Merlin really cared about was after learning about the world of monsters after accepting the position as president, he evidently decided he wanted almost nothing to do with it. He was content to pretend it didn’t exist and he had left everyone who held Merlin’s job alone. It was the path most presidents opted to take.

This new president is taking a different approach.

The voices stop when he pushes open the heavy wood door. The office under the former president was almost fun. There were quirky knick knacks on his desk and a handful of kitchy books on his coffee table and there were an almost comical amount of plants dotted around the space.

It doesn’t look like that anymore. Dr. Uther Pendragon has a far more severe aesthetic he’s employing, keeping the walls nearly bare, the bookshelves full of old drab tomes and the seating area is gone entirely. If you’re visiting Dr. Pendragon, you’ll be sitting on the wrong side of his desk.

“Mr. Emerson,” Pendragon says, lip curling in distaste. It seems Merlin doesn’t have many fans these days. “How kind of you to join us.” 

“Sorry, there was a situation.” There wasn’t, Merlin had just stalled hoping something could come up to get him out of this meeting. Tragically, nothing had. It’s funny how the monsters only appear when you don’t want them.

He shuffles into his seat and tries to make himself as small as possible.

Pendragon presses his lips together in a tight line. “As I was saying, the expected budget for the spring semester --”

Merlin tunes him out. He doesn’t understand the financial aspect of the operation and doesn’t really care to find out. He understands enough logistically to get by. 

Way Back When, when the university was founded they had a bit of a monster problem. Though to be fair, back then _most_ places had a monster problem. Hardly anyone knew that’s what it was. There were lots of rumors about murders and thefts and curses that plagued the new found city of Camelot and its university. But one of the original faculty members was a Sorcerer himself so they established a program where one student would protect the campus from all sorts of evil things and the faculty member would help as much as they could, ensuring secrecy and recruiting potential candidates to fill the role when the student graduated. The student could train their successor so they knew all the nuisances of the position and get a little help if the situation grew dire. And so the first members were inducted into the Operation: the Guardian, the Apprentice, and, of course, Emrys.

Merlin wonders what those old fucks would say if they saw what the situation looked like now.

“Now,” Pendragon says, pulling him from his musings. “We need to discuss the recent failures with your activity.”

Merlin sits up straighter and squares his shoulders. “Failures?” Out of the corner of his eye he sees Gaius shoot him a warning eyebrow meaning “be nice.”

“Of course, according to my data there’s been more Supernatural Sightings in the past few months there’s been in the past five years.”

Merlin works his jaw and resists the urge to snatch the paper from his desk, ask where it is exactly he got this fucking data before he realizes the President likely has access to all their electronic files. He probably always has but no one in his position has ever wanted to know about the ongoings of the Operation. He makes a note to tell Freya they will be returning to paper copies for the foreseeable future.

Merlin takes a breath to compose himself, keenly aware of Gaius’ nervous gaze on him. Merlin has a history clashing with authority and it’s Gaius’ job to clean up the mess, he’s the Guardian. The eyebrow is still out in full force.

Merlin tries for a diplomatic approach. “I fail to see how the mere presence of more monsters is my fault.” Both Pendragon and Gaius tense at his words. No one but Merlin calls the things that come out of the Ether ‘monsters.’ “It’s not as though I am personally popping over and dragging them back myself. I’m not really looking to be possessed by a demon.”

Gaius hits him with a glare in warning but Merlin doesn’t take his eyes off Pendragon. If he’s looking for a fight Merlin is more than ready to give him one.

Pendragon gives a slow snarling smile in response, clearly pleased that he’s made Merlin angry. Merlin resists the urge to tell him it’s not that impressive of a feat. He’s quick to anger these days.

“You can’t argue with the data, Mr. Emerson.”

Merlin gives an emphatic nod. “You’re right. I’m not arguing that the numbers are wrong, I'm going to argue that you’re deliberately misinterpreting statistics.”

“Merlin,” Gaius warns but Merlin isn’t scared of Uther fucking Pendragon. Just because the man has more money than god and probably bribed his way into this position doesn’t actually make him a deity.

“Before I took on this job the only way reports of monsters came in was from in-person sightings, scheduled patrols, and _luck_. I’ve written a program where we can track monsters, their appearances, movements, and even their habits. We have a hell of a lot more _information_ than this Operation ever did before. And because of this information we are able to _find_ more monsters that means we are _recording_ more monsters.” 

Merlin knows he’s also slightly misinterpreting statistics, or at least ignoring the implications of the data but like _hell_ if he’s going to let someone without an ounce of magic in their blood tell him how to do his job. A job that he doesn’t even _want_ but Merlin is single-handedly keeping this man’s university from turning into a dumpster fire. 

Merlin leans forward, eyes hard and angry. “I can tell you on the full moon there’s going to be an uptick in activity in the forest and on an eclipse there’s going to be more monsters everywhere. In the spring the _kelpies_ run the river and in the fall the _gremlins_ will start popping car hoods and in the winter a pack of _howlers_ will be hunting in the forest. We can have a monster spotted and dispelled in under thirty minutes, though our current record is five. Our success rate in neutralizing monsters is near one hundred percent. And last time I checked, we haven’t had a student _die_ since I’ve been hunting monsters.” Pendragon’s face is frozen in that same smile but it looks like it’s a mask about to crack. “But please, _do_ go on and tell me what a terrible job I’ve been doing.”

There’s silence and Merlin realizes he’s gripping the arms of the seat so hard they might shatter under his fingers.

“With all due respect,” Gaius says, getting Pendragon’s attention. “If it weren’t for Merlin the campus would have dissolved into chaos long ago.” Merlin feels a rush of gratitude toward Gaius but not quite enough to cool his anger. Pendragon shouldn’t be accosting Merlin, he should be grateful he’s even here.

Pendragon looks between the two of him and Merlin can practically hear the gears of his mind whirring, changing directions, looking for other weaknesses. He relaxes in his chair as he evidently finds one. “The Board is getting suspicious. Enrollment is down, crime reports are up, and a great number of students no longer feel safe on campus.”

 _Good_ , Merlin thinks, they shouldn’t feel safe. It’s not a safe place to be. Not with a monster around every corner.

Pendragon raises an eyebrow. “If we want to stay competitive with other prestigious universities, we need to handle this problem. It’s not as if Harvard is dealing with this.”

Merlin would bet all his measly savings that Harvard has its own Monster Hunting Team and they probably do a damn better job of funding it than Camelot.

Gaius lets out a long breath. “I explained this to you at our last meeting, Uther.” Merlin is thankful there are apparently other meetings that he does not have to attend. “We have no way of knowing _why_ the Ether has picked up in activity these past few years and no way to stop it. Without Merlin’s computer program we would not even be faring as well as we are.” Merlin feels a warmth spread through him at Gaius’ support. He will always stand by Merlin’s side and Merlin likes to think Gaius would do it even if it wasn’t his job.

Pendragon’s eyes are ice cold. “While I understand it does not change the fact that the current system is not working. I believe we should bring in more protection.”

Merlin narrows his eyes. “What do you mean?” he asks, not liking one bit the direction this conversation is heading. It’s bad enough that he has to drag an Apprentice through this godforsaken world. The last thing he wants is to put more people in danger.

The President gives a wide smile. “It is my understanding that there are several freelance organizations that work in the field of the Supernatural.” Merlin grits his teeth as Morgause Gorlois’ face flashes before his eyes. “I think we should allow them on campus.”

“You want to invite _bounty hunters_ on campus? You realize they have no problem taking out innocent bystanders as long as they get the kill, don’t you?”

Pendragon ignores him. “I do not believe your program is effective enough to keep our students safe. I intend to dissolve it.”

The windows start rattling as Merlin feels his magic surge up with his anger. Gaius puts a hand on his shoulder, keeping him in his seat, a feeling of calm seeping into him from the point of contact. But Gaius’ magic is not enough to stifle Merlin’s.

“Uther,” Gaius says, “this is the first we are hearing about this. It is only fair we get a chance to prove the effectiveness of the Operation. And more than that, you will need the Board’s approval before you can make any decisions.” Gaius says it gently but there’s a steel in his eye that he’s used on Merlin many times before. A gentle reminder that he does usually know best. “I know a fair few of them have a vested interest in the Operation as they themselves have been a part of it.”

For the first time Pendragon looks surprised and Merlin resists the urge to shout in triumph. Despite the “research” the president has done, he still doesn’t understand a fucking thing about the nuiances of magic in this shithole.

He seems to collect himself and says, “you have until the end of the semester.”

“That’s bullshit!” Merlin snarls, jumping to his feet, magic flaring. The room shakes around him.

Pendragon flares his nostrils. “You would do well to learn some respect,” he hisses.

Merlin narrows his eyes. “As would you.”

In response he gets an arrogant smirk that Merlin wants to wipe right off his face. “And why would I owe you any respect, Mr. Emerson?”

Merlin leans across the desk and his eyes flash from gold to black, reflecting the horrors of the world of monsters. He lets the shadows around the room bleed until the office is filled with the fog of the Ether, until Shadow Dust swirls around the room in thick suffocating spirals, until the heat of brimstone and the sulfur of decay clog the air, the icy veil between worlds so thin that something could slip right through if not for Merlin standing at the entrance. 

The Mighty Uther Pendragon cowers back in fear.

Merlin lets his voice drop nearly to the octave that only monsters can hear and growls, “ _Because I’m Emrys_.”

And then he turns on his heel, shadows snapping back into place, air sucked from the room as he lets his magic slam the door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Updates on Wednesdays!
> 
> Comments and kudos are the best :D


	4. Chapter 4

Morgana Fay walks alone down a cobbled lane early on Saturday morning. Dark storms clouds gather fat and swollen overhead but they do not break. They will -- _soon_ \-- but she knows she will be inside well before that happens.

She’s familiar with storms. There’s a story her mother loves to tell about the day she was born and the worst thunderstorm the city has ever seen. The wind picked up and howled, thunder rattled the windows of the hospital, but the clouds did not break. All the while her mother was alone, panting and groaning as Morgana refused to come into this world. There was a flash, so bright her mother saw stars as lightning struck the hospital and then darkness. A wail joined the sounds of thunder and wind and _finally_ there was the pounding of rain as Morgana was born screaming. 

Morgana thinks this is a rather dramatic way of sharing her birth story as obviously the hospital generators would have kicked on right after, but she can’t deny that storms seem to follow her wherever she goes. She can’t shake the notion that they are her own personal omens. If she listens close enough, sometimes they give her a hint about what is to come.

The campus is quiet. Students not yet rising, still sleeping off their activities from the night before and their exhaustion from the previous week. It’s been a long time since Morgana herself was one of those students.

She knows she’s something of a legend around campus. A triple major as an undergraduate, she sailed through not one but two separate Master’s courses, and now she’s teaching at the university on track to become tenured in the next few years if she plays her cards right. 

And she achieved all of that without knowledge of her parentage paving the way.

The Art School is tucked against the river, right at the back of campus, split into three buildings so close together it’s nearly impossible to distinguish between them. She cuts through the narrow strip between buildings, glanceing down the alley to her right and stops in her tracks. Scorch marks are charred into the asphalt, black and angry. She’s not sure when they appeared but she knows they are a recent addition. She walks this path almost every Saturday, though she had skipped last week in lieu of an uncomfortable brunch with some colleagues she doesn’t care for but has to play nice if she wants the professorship. 

It’s not her problem to worry about. She tears her gaze away and makes her way indoors. 

The solitude of the morning is Morgana’s favorite time to come work. At all other hours there are students diligently creating in their studios and she _hates_ when she has an audience. She works better alone. Always has and always will.

In all her time coming in early on the weekend there has never been another soul present. On this dreary Saturday she finds herself vaguely surprised to see her brother sitting on one of the benches in her usual studio, so put together against the messy paint splattered room around him.

“How did you know I would be here?”

Arthur jumps at her voice, eyes darting from her to the windows where the clouds have gone dark. A warning. He seems to collect himself and shoots her a raised brow. “You mentioned you like to work on Saturdays and your studio faced the river. Not exactly a _Gone Girl_ mystery.”

Arthur looks….bad. Worse than usual. He’s always pushed himself too hard, when he was young to prove himself to their father and now that he’s grown to prove their father _wrong_. The bags under his eyes are the color of clouds gathering outside.

Something that might be guilt pushes on her chest.

“Did something happen?” She asks, setting her bag down.

The fact that Arthur is _here_ , seeking her out when on any other Saturday he would have woken well before dawn and camped out in the library, means bad news. The two of them never talked, not like real siblings. They hadn’t grown up together. Morgana lived with her mom and Arthur lived with his, until his mother died and he got saddled with Uther. When she was forced to visit their father it was only for a few weeks at a time. She remembers being close to Arthur when they were really young in the way only children can be but she is three years older than him. One summer she came back and there was simply too much space between them.

She likes the space between her and everyone else. It keeps them all safe.

The two of them only tried to forge a relationship in the past few years and it certainly wasn’t the kind where they showed up unannounced.

Arthur cracks a broken smile at her question. “Everyone seems to be asking me that these days.”

She crosses her arms and approaches warily. “Arthur, what --”

He interrupts. Eyes bright and alert and panicked, seeking her for answers she likely doesn’t have. “What are the chances Uther grants me early access to my trust fund?”

Anger sizzles in her veins, lightning cracking against a metal rod. The storms that follow Morgana closest are the ones that live inside her.

“You want to talk about _money_?” she spits. It’s a Pendragon staple. She’d thought Arthur was different but she shouldn’t be surprised, he spent too much growing up with Uther.

Arthur’s face scrunches up in confusion. “I lost my funding,” he clarifies.

Something that is definitely guilt thuds her chest, once. This is why Arthur is the better sibling. She’s too quick to jump to the wrong conclusion, too slow to give him the benefit of the doubt.

“Why?”

If Morgana is a legend on campus then Arthur is a _god_ , worshipped and beloved by all. He’s selfless and charming and seems to know _everyone_. She’s heard countless undergraduates gushing about his courses and professors in her own department talking about how lucky the English Department must be to get a student _like that_. And for the first time in his life, Morgana thinks he’s honestly and genuinely happy with the direction his life is moving. She can’t imagine he would have done anything to jeopardize his status. And even if he did, she knows a fair few professors who would set themselves on fire if it meant they’d get to keep Arthur around.

Arthur hits her with a disdainful look. “Why do you think?”

Thunder crashes and rattles the whole building.

Uther.

Morgana grits her teeth. “He did something?”

Arthur twists the ring on his thumb. “I don’t think he did anything deliberately. It’s just his mere presence.” His eyes are back on hers, sad as they were before he showed up at Camelot. “The department knows I’m his son and it would look like nepotism or favoritism or some shit if I got the fellowship over someone else.”

She lets out a heavy breath.

When she found out her father was taking over the position as President of the university his two children _just so happen_ to be at, the world went red. Her vision tunneled and she burned hot enough that had anyone been too close they would have been singed. Her blood was fire as she drove without seeing, arriving at her father’s house between one blink and the next and slammed her fist against the door until her knuckles were scraped and red.

Uther opened the door with a firm line between his brows. It had been years since Morgana had seen him in person. Morgana only held up her hand to silence him. She hardly even noticed it was bleeding.

_You’re done manipulating Arthur. And if I find out you’ve done anything to jeopardize his future, you’ll be dealing with me._

Uther had looked furious but stayed silent. He knew damn well if Morgana made a threat, she’d follow through.

“Shit,” she says, tentatively perching on the desk next to him. “I don’t want to be the bearer of bad news but I doubt Uther would be willing to do you any favors.” Maybe even less likely than he’d be to do _Morgana_ any favors.

He sighs and looks up at the fluorescent lights of the ceiling. Lightning flashes just beyond the window and the bags under his eyes appear to grow even darker. “That’s what I figured.”

“You can have the money in my fund next year when I inherit,” she offers.

“Morgana --” She knows that tone. The _don’t be ridiculous, Morgana._ But she’s not joking.

“I’m not kidding, Arthur.” And she’s not. She has a good job and she doesn’t need any of the Pendragon’s dirty money. She was planning to donate it all anyway. Preferably to a charity that goes against everything Uther believes in like basic human rights and make the donation in his name and send him the notice for Christmas.

Arthur hits their shoulders together. “If the plan is waiting then I might as well wait until I inherit mine.”

Rain starts beating against the glass behind them in tiny ice spikes. It’s going to last a long time, this weather, bleak and drizzling and gray. 

A good sister would help their sibling out of a situation like this. They would provide advice and ease their siblings worries. She thinks about her own scholarship that got her through undergraduate. “You should schedule a meeting with someone in financial aid. There’s a ton of random scholarships no one has ever heard of, I’m sure they’d be able to point you toward something.” It’s the reason she was able to come to Camelot after all.

There’s a pause as the two of them listen to the rain.

“You’re right…” he says slowly, quietly, his voice hardly carrying over the sound of the raindrops. “I think I have heard about a few random scholarships.”

She knocks his shoulder again. “So there you go.”

He jumps off the table. “I’ve got some research to do but thanks Morgana. Good luck with your...art.”

“Thanks,” she deadpans. “Real eloquent delivery future English Literature doctorate.”

“Fuck off.”

She grins as he leaves. She wonders what her life would have been like if their relationship had been like this the entire time. Barbs underlined with gentle affection. Maybe she wouldn’t feel the need to keep everyone at arm’s length if she had always at least had a brother she could count on.

Arthur draws her attention from the doorway.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Arthur says, casually leaning against the doorframe, “do you still believe in ghosts?”

The question takes her by surprise, so at odds with their conversation prior. Morgana feels as if the icy rain is pattering against her skin. Her blood chills in her veins. 

She tries to give a laugh that she knows comes across too shrill. “What brought that on?”

Arthur studies her for a long moment before he shrugs. “You were just really into the supernatural when we were young. You used to say your dreams talked to you.” His tone is nearly accusatory.

“And you used to make fun of me,” she reminds him.

He gives a shrug. “Maybe I was quick to judge.”

Suddenly the bags under his eyes seem more ominous. The way he jumped when she opened the door. His broken smile.

“Arthur. Did -- did something happen?”

His eyes glance down the hall toward the door that leads to the alley. The alley with the charred asphalt just behind this building and the ice within her freezes completely over.

He looks at her for a minute before he gives a lopsided grin. “Everyone keeps asking that.” He shakes his head. “It’s nothing to worry about Morgana. Sorry for crashing your morning. I’ll see you next week at dinner.”

He takes his leave and she stares at the vacant door way behind him.

It’s probably nothing. Coincidence. Or she’s paranoid. Well, she knows she is paranoid though ‘paranoid’ does imply that she has nothing to fear which isn’t quite the case. Arthur is….fine. He’s always like this, stressed to a point where he’s probably going to develop a stomach ulcer. It doesn’t mean that something bad has happened to him. It doesn’t mean that he’s _seen_ something.

But just to be sure she is going to have a few words with a certain Merlin Emerson.

\--

The main entrance of the Endicott Building is the oldest on campus, an overly large cottage overgrown with ivy, the thatch roof a discolored gray. The enormous stone structure tacked onto the back is newer, though still very old in comparison to the other buildings.

Merlin’s not sure how the Information and Computer Sciences Department got placed here. He imagines every other department jumped at the opportunity to move into a new building and then by the time computers were mainstream this leaky old thing was the only option left.

Dr. Muirden sits across from him, eyes glued to the screen of the computer running Merlin’s program. Merlin sits back in his musty maroon chair and prepares for a long wait. When Dr. Muirden enters what his students affectionately refer to as the “cyber state” it takes a long time for him to return to the land of the living.

Merlin pulls up his messages and stares at the unread one he hasn’t brought himself to open.

_Lunch?_

Morgana hasn’t talked to him in a long time. Three years? Not since she got the job in the Art Department. Merlin is sure she’s busy and God knows he hasn’t had a break in ages but the message is alarming. Morgana isn’t the type of person to schedule a social visit. Never has been. There’s a chance she knows about the attack behind her building and is worried about her students but if that was the case she wouldn’t be moonlighting the inevitable interrogation under the guise of lunch. She’d just show up at the workshop.

It must be something personal. And the two of them do not have a personal sort of relationship. But Merlin doesn't have the energy for whatever mind games Morgana wants to play.

The Monster Situation and solutions therein have not gotten any clearer since his meeting with Uther Pendragon. If anything the monsters seem to _know_ Merlin would give anything for them to just stay in their fucking dimension and are coming out in droves. 

In the past week alone he’s chased a _ghoul_ out of the Science Center basement, Freya has banished a dozen _Shide_ who keep appearing near the river, and if the sightings from the houses close to the forest are any indication a _griffin_ has somehow wandered into the world. Not to mention that _harpies_ just keep coming back. 

He and Freya have spent the past week re-upping wards in an effort to at least keep the lesser monsters relegated to the forest.

The trees are brittle this time of year, letting themselves fall asleep to stay alive during the harsh and biting winter. The branches scratched angry red marks on his cheeks as they waded through dead leaves to the perimeter of the protective ward. The runes of protection are carved into trees that should only need to be strengthened every ten years. This last batch had hardly lasted a semester.

Freya had been uncharacteristically quiet, Merlin didn’t blame her. The only reason the two of them could afford this school was the Operation. They had guaranteed funding as long as they were hunting monsters. But if the Operation didn’t exist...where would they be then?

And what would happen to Merlin? Would he be trapped as Emrys forever?

The trees with carvings were easy to distinguish. Flourishing and brilliant against the otherwise grim forest, the magic giving them life and energy.

Freya caught his arm before he could raise a hand to the trunk. 

_Gaius will get us more time._

There was a surety in her voice that made Merlin ache. She was too hopeful. Hope is dangerous. It makes smart people overlook their instincts and do stupid things. But he didn’t want to tell her that.

She seemed to read his mind, though he knows that’s not her Specialty, and her eyes took on a fierceness he hadn’t seen since she first stepped foot in the workshop.

 _Gaius will get us more time. And I’ll help him fix this. Then I’m gonna pass, Merlin. I swear to God._ Her eyes were all wide and earnest and it broke Merlin’s heart that the expression would be beaten out of her in just a few years, just like it was for him. _I’m gonna study and train_ so hard _and then you’ll get what you’ve always wanted. I’ll be the new Emrys and you’ll be free._

He didn’t know what to do with Freya’s faith. He doesn’t feel like he deserves it. But if nothing else he could _try_ , at least for her sake. 

So it’s time to enhance how they are tracking monsters.

Dr. Muiden still has that glazed over look and Merlin entertains himself by looking around his advisor’s basement office. It looks the same as it did when Merlin first joined his research team. Ugly navy spotted carpet that the school must have purchased from the same manufacturer that carpets airports across the country as that’s the only other place Merlin’s seen it. A large poster of a forest in the Pacific Northwest is tacked to the wall in lieu of a window and more monitors and laptops than anyone could possibly need sit on every available surface. It’s dingy and dark and dusty enough that it's clear the cleaning staff has completely forgotten about the office entirely. 

Dr. Muirden was his top choice for his PhD studies. His _only_ choice as he’s the only professor in the Computer Sciences Department that knows about the existence of monsters. Even better that he’s had experience hunting them himself.

Merlin leans forward to inspect the level of grime on the monitor next to him because it must be a half inch thick, Christ no one has likely cleaned this office in _years_ , when Dr. Muirden lets out a long whistle. 

“This is impressive Merlin. If I had this when I was Emrys it would have made the job so much more efficient.” Merlin leans back and has to bite back a grin. It’s not often he gets praised for doing a good job. Not often that Dr. Muirden tells _anyone_ they’ve done a good job. “But,” Merlin’s heart sinks, of course there’s a but, “I think you could do more.”

Merlin leans forward, elbow on his knees. “What do you mean?” This is exactly what Merlin came here for, to learn what else he can do so they can practically become fortune tellers, predicting the location of a monster before it even appears. Close the door before it even opens.

“Right now you’re searching for specific monsters by putting in conditions with samples you’ve collected but if anything comes through that you haven’t coded for, you have no way of knowing it appeared.”

Merlin nods. “You think it needs more general parameters?”

Dr. Muirden leans back and gives Merlin an expectant raise of his brows. A look Merlin knows he’s given his own Apprentice many times. A look that says _I’m going to make you figure this out yourself_. “What does every single monster have in common?”

Merlin lets out a long breath. Not a whole lot if he’s being honest. They vary wildly in size, shape, aggression, physical attributes, duration they can exist in the Overworld. The only thing they really have in common is….”They all come from the Ether.” There’s a quirk of his advisor’s mouth that lets him know it’s the right answer. Merlin sighs. “So I should be coding for portals to the Ether instead of monsters.” It’s so obvious Merlin resists the urge to hit his head against the dusty monitor. It’s almost as if not getting a full night’s sleep for several years is bad for his intelligence.

Dr. Muirden shrugs. “Why not have both? It’s all well and good to know a portal has opened but if you don’t know what stepped out of it, you don’t really have the advantage.”

Merlin rubs a hand over his face. “I’m going to go out on a limb and say no one has ever tried to record or collect data about the formation of portals.”

Dr. Muirden gives him an apologetic smile. “Probably not. But you know they have to have one thing in common.”

“And what’s that?”

“Magic.”

Merlin scrunches up his face. “How the fu --” Merlin catches himself and mentally curses Freya for destroying his vocabulary. “I mean, how am I supposed to code for magic?”

Dr. Muirden gives another smile. “I have no idea, but I’m thrilled to see what you come up with at our next meeting.”

That makes one of them.

\--

Arthur feels absolutely ridiculous. Palms sweating, heart rate up, he feels like a teenager about to go on a first date.

Which is an absurd comparison, really. He’s not sure why he even made it.

November is proving bleak as Arthur’s prospects. He pulls up his collar against the chill and turns the corner to Avalon St, passing the antique shop with the surly owner, the homemade bath soaps shop with its pastel display, the ice cream parlor shockingly full given the frigid temperature. He glances at the scrawl on the windows for The Rising Sun as he turns to the alley.

It’s a stupid idea, it might not even be the _best_ idea but right now it’s all he’s been to come with as a short term solution. Because even though he could swallow his pride and visit his father, he _knows_ the answer Uther Pendragon will give him. His father is going to tell him that the only education he’d be willing to fund is law school and if Arthur wants to do something else he is on his own. It will be a repeat of the exact same conversation they had the last time they spoke.

Arthur gets off the stairs at the second floor landing and can’t help but wonder what could possibly be on the top floor. Surely no one would willingly live above a place like this.

He knocks once and braces for the worst. There’s a feeling like butterflies in his stomach and he wants to kick himself. He’s only nervous because his entire future is hanging in the balance and depends on a rather irritable Monster Hunter. He’s certainly not anxious about the Monster Hunter himself. Merlin is just an attractive guy. Arthur sees attractive people all the time. It’s not that big of a deal. And he probably doesn’t even remember Arthur. Which now that he’s thinking about it, is more disappointing than it should be.

Arthur forces himself to relax. He has prepared for this. He knows he has a solid argument to support his case. And he thinks he has read the two Monster Hunters well enough to be able to push them in the direction he wants. Arthur is _great_ at pushing people. Merlin is likely to be the more difficult of the duo but Freya should be easy enough to get on his side.

The door swings open and Arthur tries not to let his disappointment show on his face. It is neither Merlin nor Freya. An older gentleman stands in the doorway, long gray hair hanging loose around his face. One eyebrow is upturned in something that might be surprise.

“Dr. Gray?”

Arthur has never personally met Dr. Gaius Gray, he thinks the other man may have attended a few of Dr. Caerleon’s Christmas parties but Arthur was never introduced. However Arthur has done quite a bit of research on him the past few days. A Professor Emeritus who retired about five years ago, Dr. Gray is still involved in research in the Chemistry Department and even teaches a class on inorganic compounds in the Spring. He does a hell of a lot more than any of the Emeritus faculty in the English Department. 

And apparently he also oversees this little Monster Hunting endeavor.

Dr. Gray purses his lips and studies Arthur for a few moments. “You are Dr. Caerleon’s student. Arthur Pendragon.”

Arthur is thrown off again, both at the use of his father’s name and at the fact that Dr. Gray evidently knows who he is despite the two of them never meeting. He really hopes this doesn’t mean that _Merlin_ knows who his father is, he can’t imagine he’d be a fan. 

Arthur tries to flash a sheepish smile. “I actually go by Arthur DeBois.”

The older man hums. “Probably a wise decision. Well, what can I help you with Mr. DeBois? I do not imagine you found your way here by accident.”

Arthur swallows. He has no idea how much Dr. Gray is really involved in this operation and whether he knows what happened to Arthur. This wasn’t a part of his original preparation but maybe this is better. His initial plan was to recruit either Merlin or Freya to petition his case with him but if he can go straight to the top right away, this could still work in his favor.

“I would like to discuss the possibility of joining the program.”

The eyebrow goes even higher. “To what program are you referring?”

Arthur gestures vaguely at the room beyond. “The whole….monster hunting….gig.” Not as eloquent as he hoped. Morgana’s taunts from the other day ring in his ears.

There’s a few moments of blinking and Arthur really wishes anyone but this man had opened the door but if Arthur is going to get his way, he knows he needs to convince him. After all, according to the very exasperated man he grilled in the financial aid office, Dr. Gray is the one who approves all the scholarship recipients.

Dr. Gray’s lips seem to downturn in a terse frown. “Did your father put you up to this?”

Arthur nearly takes a step back in shock. “What? No -- no. I haven’t seen -- I mean, my father and I are not on the best of terms at the moment. We don’t really….talk,” he finishes lamely. He hadn’t meant to confess all that but no one on campus has drudged up his father this much.

The sky gives a rumble and Arthur wants Dr. Gray to get on with his decision before he’s stuck in the pouring rain.

“Then why is it that you are interested in this ‘monster hunting gig?’ After your encounter with the _Hellhound_ I’m shocked you are so eager to return.” 

Arthur has several prepared answers. About his need for funding, about the state he saw the workshop in clearly indicating they could use an extra pair of hands, about the hushed conversations on which he eavesdropped enough to gather that the team’s efforts were stretched thin.

But he doesn’t say any of that.

“I want to know more,” he says honestly. “I understand that I could forget and put this behind me but I don’t want to. If there is an entire brilliant magical world that exists just at the corner of my vision, I want to know everything I can about it.”

The eyebrow moves but Arthur doesn’t know if that’s good or bad. “You’re curious?”

Another rumble of thunder and the wind picks up. The icy drops are going to come next and Arthur resists the urge to grab his umbrella, admitting defeat as he’ll be stuck in the rain. Morgana always says that storms are omens and if you stand your ground they can turn in your favor.

Arthur swallows. Now would be a great time to point out the mutual benefits to his presence on the team but something stops him from jumping to that point.

“It’s more than that. It feels as if….There’s something about this _world_ and I just -- I _need_ to know more about it.” He cringes at his words, wondering if showing how obsessed he is will put Dr. Gray off.

Dr. Gray’s mouth curls at the corner in a smile not dissimilar to the one Merlin gave him. One that spoke of an expression rarely used. “You know what Mr. DeBois, we might be in need of your assistance after all.” He opens the door wider just as another roar of thunder shakes the stairs. “Please come in, and you can call me Gaius.”

The workshop is as untidy -- perhaps _more_ untidy -- as it was the last time he saw it. Arthur feels greedy, eyes hungrily taking in every detail he missed last time, the small details of normalcy pushed up against the impossible: the ratty sweatshirt on the back of the chair opposite the computer, clearly worn to death with love; the faded tapestry hanging from the back wall depicting a triangle, the bottom corners labeled with the words Apprentice and Guardian, the top with the word Emrys; the half dozen coffee mugs piled in a dish rack beside the sink; the shelf full of what look to be leather bound journals, golden names emblazoned on the edges.

Gaius pulls his attention. “Have you ever encountered magic before?”

Gaius gestures for him to take a seat on the couch and Arthur complies. The other man sits at the desk with the monitor and swivels the chair to face him.

“Not that I’m aware of. Merlin mentioned magic doesn’t always look like fearsome creatures.”

Gaius raises his eyebrows. “He did?”

Arthur nods, hoping he wasn’t going to get Merlin in trouble. It would make it difficult to get him on board with his plan if he was already making his job more difficult.

Gaius hums. “He must like you.” Arthur blushes like he’s thirteen again and the prettiest girl in school told him she _like_ likes him. Ridiculous. He’s being absolutely ridiculous. Gaius clears his throat and pulls him out of his thoughts. “Has anything strange ever happened that you couldn’t quite explain?”

He opens his mouth to say “no” but he’s flooded with forgotten memories before he can make the sound.

Morgana waking him in the dead of night and taking him to the basement. The arrival of a storm from nowhere nearly blowing their house off its foundation. _How did you know that?_ he asked. _I don’t know,_ her only answer, eyes wide and shaking.

His childhood best friend dragged beneath the surface of the lake seemingly by nothing. Arthur jumped in after him and pulled him to the surface both of them sputtering. _Must have got caught on something_. But the two of them never swam in that lake again.

His mother’s face vibrant and laughing as she tucks him into bed then ashen and lifeless the very next morning. An inconclusive autopsy report.

Arthur looks at Gaius’ knowing face and closes his mouth. 

Another hum. The other man grabs a thick book, bound in dark leather, the corners softened and frayed. “Before you agree, you should know what you are getting into.” Gaius looks at his watch. “And Freya’s class just ended so she should be able to answer any questions you have.”

Arthur takes the book and can’t stop the question. “Not Merlin?”

Gaius purses his lips. “Merlin is going to be….a tough sell. Better to make sure you are serious before we alert him.”

Arthur glances down at the book, _The Emrys Project,_ and opens to the first page.

> _RULE NUMBER ONE: An Emrys must always have magic at the ready._

\--

It’s been raining for three days.

Merlin pulls the hood of his jacket tight but it doesn’t stop the slanting rain and he ducks under the awning of the antique shop to avoid the worst of it.

Merlin is in a _mood_ , one in the early stages of brewing that he’s not sure what it is going to settle on. Probably anger as that seems to be the trend these days.

His phone buzzes once and he braces for the worst.

Morgana sent him another message this morning. He blinked against the sting of eyes that had been staring at a screen for too long and found himself sitting in the workshop, hectic notes scribbled in a journal on his lap and the code of his program flashing across the screen, writing new lines in an attempt to trace magic. He blinked again and he could almost hear the sound his eyes were so dry. He looked down at his phone and the message bearing Morgana’s name.

_If I didn’t know any better I’d think you were avoiding me._

Suspicion thrummed in his veins. _Just busy._ He had said.

_Too busy for friends?_

He narrowed his eyes. Morgana made it perfectly clear countless times that they _couldn’t_ be friends. She’s trying to manipulate him, guilt him into seeing her. But she’s been away too long. She doesn’t understand that he is no longer the same naive person she knew just a few years ago.

He hasn’t responded.

But the new message is not from Morgana.

_Promise you will keep an open mind._

The words are ominous by themselves but more so paired with the fact that they are from _Gaius_ who Merlin had not realized possessed a phone capable of sending text messages. Or even that Gaius knows what a text message is.

Another comes through, this one from Freya. _Are you going to be back within the hour?_

He can read between the lines. Don’t come back for an hour.

Merlin sets off at a sprint. The metal scaffolding is slippery as he takes the stairs two at a time. He presses his palms against the door, wards humming, and hears Freya let off a litany of swears behind the door.

The scene that greets him stops him in the doorway, wind whipping rain around him. Gaius sits at Freya’s desk, eyebrow already raised. Freya’s mouth hangs open on the couch either in a laugh or shock that Merlin is there. But it’s probably a laugh because she’s sitting next to _Arthur_ , as if the two of them are best friends.

Arthur who had a chance to escape this cursed world forever.

Arthur who looks equally surprised to see Merlin.

Arthur who is holding the _handbook_ in his lap.

> _RULE NUMBER FIVE: The Emrys Handbook is sacred. Only those within the Operation are permitted access._

“Shut the door Merlin, before you flood the workshop.”

Merlin reaches blindly behind him until he finds the doorknob and closes the door soundly. He doesn’t take his eyes from Arthur. Merlin notes that he is even more attractive when he’s not covered in grime from the Ether. How _annoying_.

Gaius’ words and Freya’s desperation to help with the Monster Situation and the fucking handbook paint a picture Merlin is not liking at all.

His nebulous mood ignites as it settles on anger.

“Absolutely not.”

Gaius lets out an exasperated sort of sigh. “You do not even know what I am going to propose.”

“You’re going to propose that _he_ ,” Merlin gestures at Arthur, flinging water across the room, “joins this fucking Operation.”

Gaius gives a false cheery sort of smile. “So you see the merit.”

Merlin crosses his arms, water pooling on the ground below him. With an annoyed huff of air, his eyes flash gold and he dries himself and the room around him. He notices Arthur’s eyes go wider at the sight.

Merlin tears his gaze from the intruder. “He doesn’t have magic.” It’s a desperate sort of excuse, one he knows Gaius likely already has a reason to counter. Though how Gaius even _found_ Arthur is beyond Merlin.

Of all the people they’ve met, why did Gaius have to pick _Arthur_?

Arthur seems to come to life and narrows his eyes. “ _He_ is sitting right here.”

Merlin glares at him, anger thrilled to have a target. “ _Do_ you have magic?”

He’s met with a jaw set in a challenge. “No, but I can help in other ways.”

“Can you _code_?”

“No,” Arthur says through clenched teeth. “But I can learn.” Freya is shooting her gaze between the two of them as if watching a tennis match.

Merlin smirks. “It may have escaped your notice but I’m a little too busy to teach you something like that. And I fail to see how having an unnecessary body in the room is any help at all.”

Arthur makes a show of looking around the room. “This place is disgusting.”

Merlin narrows his eyes. “It’s not a priority.”

“But I could do it. And I could help catalogue the journals and organize the records on monsters.” He knows far more than he should. There’s that stupid disarming grin that Merlin needs to keep as far away from himself as possible.

Freya leans forward. “Technically we call them Supernatural Entities, only Merlin calls them monsters.”

Arthur shoots her a thankful sort of smile that has Merlin rolling his eyes. “You want to be our librarian?” he asks. It’s such a good fucking idea he has no idea how he’s going to talk everyone out of it.

Arthur tilts his head and grins. “I am very fond of books.”

Merlin looks at Gaius. “I don’t want anyone else.”

“Merlin,” Gaius starts, “if we are too keep this Operation going we are going to need to start making some changes.”

Merlin holds up a hand. “I’m Emrys. It is my duty to choose who assists me.” Merlin knows he is being hypocritical as hell. Gaius and Freya have heard him complain about his job more times than any of them can likely count. But if they are adding someone to the team, it _can’t_ be Arthur. “I don’t want him. We’ll get someone else.”

Arthur crosses his arms. “What’s wrong with me?”

What’s wrong is that Merlin can’t tear his gaze away from his stupid handsome face and he thinks about that godforsaken Halloween night all the fucking time and more than once he’s nearly searched Arthur’s information in the school directory just to learn more about him.

What’s _wrong_ is that Merlin knows if Arthur hangs around long enough, he’s going to get right past all of Merlin’s defenses, all of his carefully constructed walls protecting himself.

And worst of all, Merlin nearly wants to _let_ him.

But he can’t say all that.

He scoffs. “Besides your lack of magic, unfamiliarity with the world of monsters, and inability to code?”

Arthur gives an insincere smile. “Yes, besides those inconsequential points.”

Gaius interrupts Merlin’s sputter of “ _inconsequential!_ ” with his steely gaze. “There have been Apprentices without magic before.”

“Then that was a _stupid_ decision.” How the hell someone trained for the Emrys Ascension without magic is _unfathomable_. They were probably killed in the process. Before Gaius can say anything else he gestures to Freya. “And I already have an Apprentice.” An Apprentice he likes and trusts not to accidentally get themselves killed in the field.

Gaius folds his hands in his lap. “There is no reason you can’t have more than one at a time.”

This is news to Merlin. Why the hell haven’t they been hedging their bets this whole time and training as many people as possible? Probably because it’s difficult to find people willing to undergo this experience. Though apparently _Arthur_ is willing.

Merlin’s initial assessment was right. Arthur is very stupid.

Merlin scrubs a hand over his face. “I won’t do it.”

“Merlin --” Gaius starts but Arthur raises his hand.

“It’s alright Gaius, I appreciate you meeting with me.” He gives Merlin a long look. “If you change your mind, I’m sure you can find me.” It’s another challenge and Merlin fights against every instinct he has to meet it.

Freya walks him to the door and Merlin ignores her whispered, “Merlin will come around. He just doesn’t like change.”

Merlin doesn’t take his eyes from Gaius as he glares hard enough to burn a hole through the wall. Freya skirts around the edge of the room as she makes her way back to her seat, avoiding Merlin’s gaze.

Gaius gives him a disapproving look. “You needn’t have thrown a tantrum.”

Embarrassment cuts through his anger. “You shouldn’t have ambushed me.”

Gaius hums. “You weren’t supposed to be back so soon.”

“You shouldn’t have talked about it behind my back. I’m the leader of this Operation. Any decision that’s made is _mine_.”

Gaius studies him for a few long moments. “You take on too much, Merlin. We were just trying to help. Why don’t you like him?”

That’s not the problem though, is it? The problem is that without even knowing Arthur he likes him far too much. And Arthur doesn’t have a trace of magic which means the first time he’s caught with a monster by himself he will be torn to shreds and Merlin will only arrive to see the carnage that is the aftermath. And Merlin can't deal with that. Not again.

Merlin decides not to say anything.

Gaius clears his throat. “I believe he’s Marked.”

Merlin’s stomach gives an uncomfortable lurch. Sometimes things from the Ether were drawn to certain people. No one is really sure what causes this pull. Maybe you get too close to a tear between the worlds and it catches your scent. Maybe you play a game as a child and try to summon Bloody Mary in the bathroom mirror only to call on something far more sinister. Some people run from demons they can’t see their whole lives and never learn the truth.

Merlin lets out a shaky breath. It would certainly explain the _Hellhound’s_ interest in Arthur. “So working here would be a way to keep him safe?”

Gaius gives a terse nod.

Merlin shakes his head. “But I’ve met countless people who are Marked and we’ve never offered them employment before.”

Gaius leans forward. “None of them have ever _asked_.”

Freya gives Merlin a pleading look. “He’s genuine Merlin, I _swear_ , no nefarious intent. I didn’t even have to do a full Reading to tell. But I bet he’d let me if I asked. He just really wants to work here. And even if it’s just an extra pair of eyes to watch the Scanner, it would be a huge help. Then I could learn all those spells we haven’t gotten to.”

Merlin looks between the two traitors that compose his team. “I’ll think about it.”

Freya scrunches up her face in disappointment but Gaius merely says, “that’s all I ask.”

Merlin is just going to have to come up with someone else to help them out. There’s no way he’s letting Arthur DeBois or _anyone_ without magic anywhere near this shit. What his two companions seem to be forgetting is that the more you notice the monsters, the more they notice you right back.

And once the Ether decides to sink its claws into you, there’s no way to convince it to let you go.

\--

Camelot University is quiet save the pattering of rain against the asphalt.

Mordred Evans pulls his jacket tight against his body against the chill of the night. He’s tired, from his shift at the diner, from his conversation with his piece-of-shit father, from a life that hasn’t gone the way he always imagined. He’s still living in shitty apartments near the university because he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to afford anything else, not with the way landlords make you pay three months up front, greedy fucking bastards.

There was a time not too long ago when he thought maybe things were finally turning around. But of course in the end, he failed the way he always does.

A glance around tells him no one is near, no one is watching, shit he doubts anyone is even _awake_ at this hour. With a gentle hiss of a spell, he’s dry from head to toe.

Even if he doesn’t have a whole lot going for him at least he’s got his magic.

He freezes as the atmosphere around him changes. He can’t pinpoint exactly what it is exactly, just a _feeling_. One he’s intimately familiar with. As if very near him the universe has cracked, just a little, just enough that something might be able to slip through from the other side.

He doesn’t have time to run.

The snarl is the only warning he gets before there’s a bite at his shoulder, teeth digging into his flesh, tearing and ripping. Fire erupts down his arm.

He cries out in agony and sends a jolt of magic through his system, strong as he can muster. The creature shrieks and lets go.

On unsteady feet he swings around to see what he’s facing. A _Hellhound_. Young by the looks of it. Angry though, with eyes red and teeth glowing. There’s an acrid metallic scent of blood emanating from its body.

He’s dizzy from the display of magic and surge of adrenaline and blood pouring from his shoulder onto the concrete. His eyes quickly scan the nearby trees for any small animals that might be willing to sacrifice themselves to save his life but things tend to flee when the Ether is active even if they themselves don’t know why.

Biting his lip, he tears off his jacket, eyes whiting out against the pain.

He just needs to buy a few minutes. As long as Merlin is as good as he used to be he’ll be here in less than ten.

With a deep breath he tosses the jacket into the creature's face, covering its eyes and filling its senses with the fresh blood of a sorcerer, blood that should disorient it enough that it loses track of him, and takes off running. His apartment is just around the corner and the wards he put on should be strong enough to give the creature pause. Though now that he’s thinking about it they should be strong enough that the creature wouldn’t appear this close to his home anyway.

Relief rushes through him as his shitty ass building comes into view. No central air, no insulation, but Christ if it doesn’t look like a goodman oasis. His body hits the front door with a thud and he takes a deep breath to gather his magic, to turn the lock, and get inside.

A growl just behind him.

Fear cuts him clean to his core and he loses his grip on the spell. His hands tremble. He turns and the creature is walking up the pathway right toward him. Past the wards he put on the gate, past the dead grass Mordred _knows_ he laced with magic the last time his landlord hired anyone to landscape, paws padding on concrete that should burn it where it stands instead leaving dark black marks each time it treads.

He can’t stop it. And Emrys is not here. And Mordred is going to die.

It lunges and he can’t do anything, his magic so far away he may as well not have any at all. It’s his leg this time in its sharp jaw, biting right down to the bone.

He screams loud and shrill and _pushes_ that fear into everyone in his building, everyone on the whole block, hoping anyone will wake up, but he knows it’s too late.

The last thing he notices is something bright and shiny nestled under the fur by the hollow of the beast’s throat and then he is pulled right into the unknown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Updates on Wednesdays!
> 
> Next Chapter features: a monster investigation, Arthur doing his best to ~~annoy~~ impress Merlin, and Gwen! (finally, sorry it took so long to get her in the story lol).
> 
> Comments and kudos are the best :)


	5. Chapter 5

Caution tape surrounds the pathway leading up to the apartment building. The concrete of the doorstep is stained burgundy, as is the lawn, and the street, and a generous portion of the front of the building. 

A ringing phone woke Merlin, blurry eyed and confused. 

_Hello?_

He had a late night manning the Scanner, tweaking his program to account for the nebulous force that is magic. Monsters are easy, they change the temperature and humidity and chemical compounds in the air and all they need for detection is a series of sensors strategically placed around campus. But what the hell does _magic_ do?

Freya’s voice, hushed and quiet. _It’s Mordred._

The day is bright even though the sky is gray. Someone knocks into his shoulder and Freya is pointing to the path. Beneath the dried blood is charred marks, shadow dust burned right into the ground. The trail leads all the way to the door. There’s a patch of singed grass just to the side where whatever it was probably opened the portal.

“Do you want me to measure the prints?” Freya whispers, as if raising her voice will bring the monster back. He told her she didn’t have to come but all she had done was set her jaw. _He was one of us, Merlin. He’d do the same for me._

Merlin didn’t know about that but he admired her strength all the same.

“You don’t have to. I can.” He wants to give her an out, because this is well out of their usual territory.

Freya shakes her head. “No, I always do calculation stuff.” Her eyes catch on someone existing the building through a side door. “Plus, it looks like you need to do Emrys stuff.”

Merlin turns and swallows a mouthful of swears.

Morgause Gorlois is exiting the building looking far too pleased to be at the gruesome scene of a disappearance.

Freya hits his shoulder again. “Go get her, Emrys.”

Morgause grins wide at his approach. “It’s been awhile since I’ve heard from you, Emrys. I was worried your assistant wasn’t getting my messages.”

“Apprentice,” he corrects, teeth clenched.

She waves a hand dismissively. “Same difference.” It's really not.

He narrows her eyes. “What are you doing here? Last time I checked, you weren’t permitted on campus.”

She grins again with a smile that Merlin hates. “I think you’ll find this housing isn’t technically a part of the university system. And you know I work as a private hire.”

Merlin narrows his eyes. “Who hired you?” Who has such an interest in Mordred they shelled out money for Morgause's fee?

“Client confidentiality.” Her eyes flash and he can sense her magic jump to the surface before she can reign in her emotions. It’s unfortunate that Morgause chose a career that puts her so at odds with Merlin, she’s the first person he’s ever met that has magic similar to his. If he didn’t dislike her so much, he’d love to ask her about it. 

Her face pouts in mock sympathy. “Wouldn’t it make more sense for us to work together on this? He was your lost cause, wasn’t he?”

The question is a low blow, meant to stoke his anger. It works but he doesn’t want her to know that. “He _isn’t_ a lost cause.”

If anything, it is _Merlin_ that failed Mordred. Mordred was his first Apprentice, went through the full two years of training, worked hard and studied magic and Merlin was _so sure_ he was going to pass he hadn’t even thought to worry. But Mordred didn’t pass Ascension and how is Merlin supposed to blame anyone for that except himself?

Morgause smirks and starts ticking off a list on her fingers. “He failed your training, dropped out of school, _Isolde_ didn’t even want him and God knows she could use someone with magic on her team. What else would you call that, Emrys, if not a lost cause?”

Merlin flares his nostrils. “Do you actually want to work together on this or do you just want to insult my previous students?”

Morgause grins. “I’ll tell you what I got from the neighbors if you do me a favor. The very same favor I’ve been calling you about for the past several weeks, mind you.”

Merlin works his jaw. “What favor?”

Morgause turns serious and Merlin realizes her game is up for the moment. Much as Merlin might not like her or how she gets things done, she certainly takes her job very seriously. “The museum downtown wants to instill protective wards. Your magic is stronger than mine, obviously,” she adds with a sneer. Morgause has some sort of grudge against the way the Emrys Project utilizes magic.

Merlin crosses his arms. “What do they need wards for?”

Morgause looks around as if someone is going to eavesdrop and take the information to do the job for her. He rolls his eyes, _bounty hunters_. “There’s been a series of robberies for the past few months.” She ignores Merlin’s mumbled, _that’s ironic_ and keeps talking. “No sign of break-in, no forced entry, nothing on the video feeds.”

“They think it’s monsters?” It really doesn’t seem like the biggest problem at the moment. It doesn’t even rank in the top forty-five as far as Merlin is concerned.

Morgause nods. “They want extra security. They need wards. The good kind.” The Emrys kind.

Merlin rubs a hand over his face. “I really don’t see why I should give a shit that some museum largely displaying stolen ‘artifacts’ is getting robbed.”

She purses her lips. “They hired extra security and both of them are currently in the hospital with no sign of waking. I suspect they had an encounter with whatever is doing the stealing.”

“Shit.”

Morgause gives an insincere smile. “We’ve worked together enough over the years to know how this goes, Emrys. You care far too much about non-magical citizens so you’re going to help me even if you don’t want to. And I’ve even offered you a bonus this time around. You want information about your boy. _That’s_ your reward. I’m not stupid enough to think you’re actually going to work with me on this. It’s going to be a race. One which if you lose will eat away at you for years to come.”

Christ she’s a piece of work. He wonders if she treated his own teacher this way before Merlin became Emrys. Merlin is going to have to do his own investigation anyway but it would certainly help to know the direction Morgause is headed. Keep your enemies close and all that. Not that he thinks of Morgause as an enemy. Not yet.

“ _Fine_ , I’ll swing by the museum next week. What have you got?” 

She looks displeased with the timeline but doesn’t make a comment about it. “All the neighbors woke up at exactly the same time. They heard screams.”

“Christ.” He feels sick to his stomach at the idea that Mordred was in so much pain he _screamed_. That he wasn’t prepared at all. That if Merlin had done a better job he’d still be here.

“It gets worse.” She sounds almost excited and Merlin has to swallow down his surge of anger. This isn’t some fantastical story, this is someone’s _life_ and she’s treating it like sensationalized gossip. “Some of them swore they heard a voice.”

Merlin sucks in a breath. “Mordred?”

She nods.

Fuck. Mordred's natural magic was the telepathic kind. The kind where if he focused enough he could hear the thoughts of others. And if he had enough energy he could push his own thoughts into other people's minds. It must have been his final cry for help.

Freya comes up behind him and Morgause gives her a condescending smile. “Let’s hope your latest student fares better than the other two." Merlin resists the urge to say that Gilli is _fine_ , he was just a shitty Sorcerer. "I expect the wards up by next Friday.” With a final sneer she takes off down the road.

Ugh, _bounty hunters_. Merlin puts his face in his hands and digs his palms into his eyes until he sees stars. He counts to thirty so he doesn’t scream.

“Uh, Merlin?” Freya says. “I hate to interrupt but I think there’s someone here to see you.”

The world is a bit of a kaleidoscope when he takes his hands away. He blinks against the spots to find her pointing to someone heading right toward them. But it must be Merlin's vision because it _can't_ be who he thinks it is. Someone Merlin explicitly told to get out of the workshop and this world and to mind his own fucking businees. 

The stupidest bastard Merlin has ever had the displeasure of meeting.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

\--

There’s a tingling sensation running down Arthur’s spine, a feeling of anticipation. The sort of anticipation where you don’t know if the outcome is about to be good or bad.

There’s enough awareness right at the edge of his consciousness that he knows this is a dream. Arthur only has one type of dream these days and he’s always running, with the bitter tang of fear high in his throat. 

Sometimes he’s being chased, sometimes he’s being hunted. Being chased is the better alternative.

Footsteps pound against the ground just behind him.

Arthur knows better than to look over his shoulder, knows because he’s had this dream before and if he tries to see who is chasing him, the dream will end, he’ll _lose_.

But without looking he knows who it is that is chasing him, can see him as clearly in his mind as if he’s standing just before him. Windswept hair, sharp cheekbones, a mouth curled into a wicked smirk.

It’s too easy to lose because more than anything he wants to _see_ him.

A shrill scream rips him out of the dream.

Arthur sits up, tangled in his sheets and looks around for the culprit. His pulse is roaring in his ears and it’s nearly impossible to hear.

Before he can call out for his roommate the scream goes off again followed by a shrieking sort of laugh.

Arthur falls back on his bed with a groan. _Fucking crows._

It seems as though they’ve made a nest for themselves in the gutters right above his window and their favorite pastime is screaming as loud as they can muster, scaring Arthur awake each and every morning. He can hear their talons scratching along the vinyl and shudders. The crows of Camelot must be a rare breed because they are far larger than any crow Arthur has ever seen.

He thinks about lying in bed and wallowing in self pity but decides it will be far more appropriate to wallow over a bowl of soggy cornflakes.

So he does just that.

The thing is, he thinks as he takes a bite of the rapidly dissolving cereal, he sort of thought Merlin felt the same... _interest_ as he did. The connection that Arthur feels when he looks at him, the desire to _know him_. The feeling he’s had since Merlin saved him. Christ, he’s even _dreaming_ about him. Going by Merlin’s behavior, that is clearly not the case. In fact, there is a chance that Merlin hates him. Which is more devastating than it should be seeing as he’s spent less than two hours in Merlin’s company. He told Gaius he was interested in the world of monsters, but he’d be lying if he said some of that interest wasn’t solely reserved for the man who hunted them.

And he had honestly not anticipated such a _difficult_ time convincing Merlin. Arthur is a _professional_ at getting exactly what he wants. But there’s something about Merlin that makes him act far more stupid than he usually does and forget all his excellent people skills.

So now he needs to either come up with something else to keep him in his program or some way to show Merlin that he’s not as useless as Merlin seems to believe.

They both seem like impossible tasks.

His roommate walks into their kitchen and blinks at him in surprise.

“You usually aren’t here?”

Arthur swallows a particularly mushy bite. “Sorry?”

Elyan shakes his head, looking embarrassed. “No I didn’t mean -- I just meant I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you eat before.” Elyan seems to wince at his words and goes about preparing his own breakfast.

It occurs to Arthur this might be the longest conversation they’ve ever had. What the hell is wrong with him that he’s never talked to his roommate in the three years he’s lived here?

“Hey, you’re an accountant right?” Arthur asks.

Elyan turns from the cupboard and raises a brow. “Yes?”

“Do you ever do personal finance….stuff?” Apparently whatever people skills he lost while speaking to Merlin have yet to return.

Elyan shifts back and forth on his feet uncomfortably. “Um...not really. What --” his phone starts buzzing on the counter and shoots Arthur an apologetic shrug. “One second.” Arthur looks down and tells himself not to eavesdrop but it is very difficult as his manners have vanished entirely. 

“ _What_?” Elyan gasps. Arthur looks up to see his face agape in horror. “It was in front of your _building_? Oh my God, _Gwen_ , why didn’t you call me last night? Yes -- geez -- sorry that was insensitive. You can --” Elyan looks at Arthur. “Hold on.” He places his hand over the phone. “Someone was attacked outside my sister’s building.”

“Oh my god,” Arthur says, getting to his feet.

“Can she stay with us for a few days?”

“Of course, do you need help moving her out?”

Elyan looks momentarily surprised. “Yeah, that’d actually be great.”

Arthur wants to convince himself that this is unrelated to everything that has transpired over the past few weeks but he can’t get himself to believe it.

There’s caution tape and news crews and the pit in Arthur’s stomach sinks lower.

Elyan heads over to a gathering of people all staring at the building and a woman with dark curly hair runs toward them. Elyan wraps her in a tight hug.

“Are you alright?”

Elyan’s sister nods and takes a deep steadying breath. “I’m fine. It was just….jarring.” She shakes her head. “And I feel so bad for the boy. He was always on his own but he was very sweet and now….” she trails off and looks at Arthur and seems to blush. “I’m sorry, I’m being so rude. I’m Gwen,” she says, holding out a hand.

Arthur takes her hand with a gentle smile. “You don’t need to apologize for anything. I’m Arthur.”

“Thank you for letting me stay with you.” Gwen tries to give him a smile but she’s got dark circles under her eyes and her face is tense with what might be fear.

Arthur knows the feeling.

“Of course,” he says, “as long as you need.”

She gives a grateful smile. Elyan nods at the suitcase and backpack. “Is this all your stuff?”

She bites her lip. “Most of it….I’d like to grab a few more textbooks if you don’t mind.”

Arthur offers to start loading up the car and the three split off in different directions. As Arthur is making his way back he catches sight of Merlin in a rather tense conversation with a woman with long blond hair. Freya is giving the woman a scowl.

He starts heading over before he really thinks it through.

There’s something about Merlin that makes him want to throw all caution to the wind. And any sense of self-preservation.

By the time he steps in front of the Monster Hunters, the woman is gone.

He means to say "hello" or literally any greeting he has heard in his life. Instead he says, “was this an attack from the Ether?”

He's _thrilled_ to note that his track record for tactlessness when speaking to Merlin remains unbroken.

Merlin glares at him. “Why don’t you say it a little louder, I don’t think the gawking pedestrians two blocks down heard you.”

Arthur narrows his eyes. He’s not sure he’s ever met someone who disliked him so vehemently. “It’s not as if any of them would know what I’m talking about.”

“That’s not the _point_!” Merlin snaps and Freya clamps a hand over her mouth but a snort escapes. Merlin gives her a look like she’s betrayed him. “Why don’t you go interview Mordred’s neighbors.”

Her eyes light up. “Really? You think I’m ready for that?” Her eyes quickly narrow. “Or are you just trying to get rid of me so you can flirt with Arthur?”

Freya, Arthur decides, is a wonderful person, easily the best Monster Hunter Arthur has ever met. To Arthur’s delight Merlin’s cheeks go pink and he looks ready to explode. “ _Go_ ,” he hisses.

“Geez -- it was a _joke_.” She shoots Arthur a wink. “He’s really easy to rile up. Keeps him young.”

“I’m not old!”

“Keep telling yourself that, Emrys!”

Merlin turns back to Arthur with narrowed eyes. “What are you doing here?”

“I have a….” he struggles to land of a word that concisely describes _roomate’s sister I just met and is terrified to stay by herself_ , “ _friend_ who lives here. She’s going to be staying with me for a few days.”

There’s an expression that flashes across Merlin’s face, too quick to identify. “Probably smart.”

“Do you know what it was?”

Merlin glares again and he realizes he sounded far too eager. He’s not going to win Merlin over with enthusiasm. “We’re investigating.”

“I could help.” He knows it’s not the time to push, he _knows_ , but he can’t help it.

Merlin crosses his arms. “Arthur --”

“Listen, I get that you don’t like me for whatever reason but I know you need extra help. Take me on a trial basis. Just for the rest of the semester, if you don’t like me then you can kick me out, no hard feelings.” Except for Arthur’s feelings but that’s another matter.

Merlin looks into the distance, studying the gray horizon. A small sliver of hope works its way into Arthur’s heart. Then Merlin shakes his head and it’s gone. “It’s dangerous.”

“I don’t care.” He’s coming off arrogant and cavalier but he _means_ it. Gaius was willing to include him and he doesn’t seem like the sort of man who would agree to letting Arthur hang around if he really thought he’d be killed. He understands that there is risk and it’s still dangerous but Merlin and Freya are constantly putting themselves in harm’s way. Why is it so horrible for Arthur to do the same?

“I do.” Merlin’s gaze is back on him, hot and branding. “I have no idea why you are so interested in joining something that will likely end with your death but it's not happening. I’m responsible for everyone, if something bad happens it falls on _me_. It’s bad enough I have to have Freya with me. Just -- go home,” his eyes land over Arthur’s shoulder and Arthur turns to see Gwen waving at him, Elyan further back by the car, “take your _friend_. The both of you should stay far away from all of this. _Please_.”

Merlin’s eyes are sort of wide and desperate. Arthur gets the impression that Merlin doesn’t say please much if the way his mouth scrunches up in distaste is anything to go by. It softens the rejection just a hair. 

“Alright.” He looks at Merlin for several long moments. “Goodbye, Merlin.”

Merlin looks almost sad as he nods in farewell. But maybe that’s wishful thinking.

He joins Elyan and Gwen as they load back into the car.

“Do you know him?” Elyan asks with a nod in Merlin’s direction. Arthur looks out the window to see Merlin and Freya with their heads close together, crouched on the front lawn.

“Not really,” Arthur says. He doesn’t know anything about Merlin or monsters or magic and it doesn’t seem as if that is going to change any time soon.

\--

The days are beginning to blur together: wake, eat, code, banish another _harpy_ , write some of his thesis, eat, show Freya how to design her own wards, read Archival accounts of people gone missing, lie to his advisor about getting somewhere with the whole tracking magic situation, eat, listen to Gaius talk about how he has yet to convince Uther Pendragon to give them until the end of the spring semester to prove their worth but _he's hopeful_ , read back over his thesis and realize he wrote absolute nonsense, stare at the sweeping line of the Scanner and pray nothing deadly comes through, stare at the sweeping line of the Scanner and pray that if something deadly _does_ come through they will at least _know_ about it, repeat.

He and Freya have stayed up late all week, both of them manning the Scanner until dawn, taking turns sleeping in the vacant apartment upstairs. Each time he tried to make Freya take a longer break she narrowed her eyes in defiance and said if Merlin didn’t go get some sleep she’d take one of the Insomnia Potions Gaius brewed and would stay up all night by herself. She’s too stubborn for her own good. Maybe it’s a trait of all Apprentices, his own teacher said the same about him.

Merlin hustles up the stairs to beat the setting sun. The only fortunate thing about Monsters is that most of them only come out at night. Merlin can’t imagine what his schedule would look like if he needed to figure out how to watch the Scanner all day as well all night.

It is a bit unfortunate that the sun sets at 6:00 pm in November.

The workshop, much to Merlin’s irritation, can only be described as disgusting. He’s expecting to see Freya as he did when he arrived yesterday, hunched over her Calculus book running through suggested problems. The Emrys Scholarship doesn’t have any stipulation about grades but Freya has too much pride not to do her best.

And he does find Freya, but he stops in his tracks at the sight of Morgana.

She is sitting in front of the Scanner and Freya is looking very guilty from her place in front of the chalkboard, hand raised as if mid-lecture.

“You let her in?”

Freya sticks out her chin. “I invited her.”

Merlin feels his magic surge through his veins, quick and angry before he can reign it in. “Freya!” He was at least hoping his _Apprentice_ would stay on his side. Though after that _scene_ with Arthur, he should have learned his lesson.

She gives him an imploring look. “We need _help_ , Merlin. And you don’t want someone without magic and Gaius is a million years old and wants to retire soon and we don't know who the next Guardian is going to be so we don’t have many other options!” She looks exasperated and tired and guilt bubbles in his stomach.

Morgana merely raises one imperious eyebrow. “Hello, Merlin.” She tilts her head to the side. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

He doesn’t know what to say, because he _has_ been avoiding her. He wears his shame like a cloak, tight around his throat and suffocating. It’s Merlin’s fault that Mordred is gone and that the program is falling apart and that he can’t train an Apprentice worthy enough for the Emrys Title and that Gaius can’t retire and that he can’t go home to visit his mom and that his advisor can’t take on any more students because he has to spend so much time helping Merlin. 

Guilt is his closest companion these days.

Most don’t have the knowledge to see that shame but Morgana knows too much. If she sticks around for too long she’s sure to notice.

Merlin crosses his arms. “What did you really want to meet about?” The sooner they get to the crux of the matter, the sooner Morgana will leave.

But Morgana isn’t paying him any attention. She is looking through the files open on the desk. She looks up with a furrowed brow. “Are these all from your time as Emrys?”

He doesn’t want to answer but Freya does it for him. “Those are from the last month.”

Morgana’s eyes go wide, whether in shock or fear Merlin can’t tell. “ _Merlin_ ,” Morgana hisses. “Why didn’t you _say_ something?”

Anger flares hot enough his clothes steam just a little. He lets out a quick breath to cool himself down. “I _did_. Three years ago. The situation is the same as it was then -- well, technically it’s worse. The Ether is getting more active and I have no way to control it. I believe your exact words of advice were ‘not my problem’ and ‘try harder.’”

The conversation is seared into Merlin’s memory. Morgana looked so angry that he’d even seek her out and she knew damn well how desperate he would have been to do that, how hard it is for him to swallow his pride and ask for anything. The last thing she snapped at him was _I’m never going back to that life Merlin. And you should really stop calling them monsters._

But Merlin can call them whatever the hell he wants and Morgana can’t stop him. Because he is no longer her Apprentice and she is no longer Emrys.

Morgana looks down. “I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t --” she shakes her head. Merlin doesn’t _need_ an apology but he would certainly like one. But that isn’t Morgana Fay’s style, her actions fill in the gaps where her words are lacking. “What can I do to help now?”

Trust is hard for Merlin. He trusts Freya and Gaius because none of them have a _choice_. All of them swore a vow that has hopelessly bound them together. Morgana is under no such obligation, not anymore. He trusted her implicitly when she was his teacher but that trust has been sanded away by her own jagged words. Who's to say she’s not going to jump ship the moment she regrets her decision. Though the fact that she’s even offering, after everything she’s been through has to count for something.

He doesn’t have the energy for an argument right now.

“Alright,” he says turning to Freya and settling himself into the other desk, “what have you told her?”

Freya flashes a grateful smile. “Just that Morded is missing.”

“And I was asking who Mordred was.”

Merlin rolls his eyes. Surely Morgana is not so out of the loop that she’s not paying attention to any local news. The reporters have latched onto the story and provide details during every cycle, the grimmer the outlook the more light seems to shine in their eyes. “Mordred is the boy that went missing. He was my first Apprentice.”

Morgana looks between Merlin and Freya. “First?”

Freya nods. “I’m the third.”

She looks back at Merlin and Merlin feels the familiar bubble of shame curdle his stomach. “We don’t have time to talk about that right now. You can interrogate me about my teaching practices when we find him.”

Freya clears her throat. “Mordred left his shift at Rosie’s around 2:30. Given the fact that it was raining, he probably hustled home which puts him at the scene of the Incident around 3:00 am.”

Merlin nods along. He already knows all this. The review is solely to ground Freya and update Morgana. “What else?”

Freya furrows her brow. “We know something from the Ether was there.” Merlin starts to ask how Freya knows this but she’s already anticipating his question. He smiles just a little. She’s a damn good student, he has to give her that. “There was a line approximately three feet across charred into the ground, typical of a temporary portal formed to the Ether.” Morgana opens her mouth to interrupt but Merlin motions for her to wait. She sits back with only slightly narrowed eyes. Merlin is in charge, if she really wants to help she’s just going to have to get used to it. Freya continues. “There were also shadow dust tracks charred into the ground. The prints were consistent with a dozen creatures. But….” He cocks an eyebrow in question. “It didn’t appear on the scanner. It happened at 3:00 am and it _dragged_ someone into the Ether. It sounds an awful lot like a case we had on Halloween.”

In Merlin’s experience, Monsters rarely attack non-magical people. Most Monsters aren’t _really_ violent, they are just lost, trapped in a dimension they don’t belong in. They only lash out if provoked, just like an animal. A large portion of attacks are from someone being in the wrong place at the wrong time. 

There are exceptions. Horrible, terrifying, exceptions. But the creatures that _are_ violent almost always leave the body behind. Freya’s suspicions are not that far out of the realm of possibility.

Morgana seems physically unable to stop her next question. “Does this have anything to do with the portal mark behind the Art Building?”

Maybe that’s what she wanted to talk about after all. Merlin nods and turns to Freya with an expectant raise of his brows. “So what’s your theory?”

Her jaw drops. “My theory! _You're_ Emrys!”

Morgana purses her lips like she’s trying not to laugh. It occurs to him that perhaps he has not fostered the “respectful” teacher-student relationship one is supposed to have between Emrys and Apprentice. Freya is far too much like a friend.

He crosses his arms. “Yes, but if you are going to one day be Emrys, God willing, you’ll have to do this yourself. Preferably nothing remotely like this but the procedure will be similar.” He motions for her to go on. “Let’s hear it.”

Freya furrows her brow and starts pacing. Merlin bites back a smile and even Morgana looks amused. Pacing seems to be a universal Emrys tactic.

His Apprentice lets out a long breath and faces him.

“Two options,” she says, writing a large “A” on the board. She bites her lip and looks at Merlin. “He’s dead.” 

Merlin gives a terse nod. It certainly is an option. Probably the most likely option if he’s being honest. There was too much blood at the scene. And Mordred had magic, which meant whatever attacked him was very determined in spite of that.

But it isn’t the only option.

Freya quickly scrawls “gone” on the board. She looks back at Merlin as she writes a capital “B.” “Option two is he’s alive.”

Merlin gives her a disdainful look. “Brilliant deduction. Care to elaborate?”

“Well,” Freya hedges, gesturing to the board. “He was either attacked by something from the Ether and died, his body dragged through a portal for….decomposition.” She shudders. “Or he was dragged through a portal still alive and came out somewhere else.”

Morgana leans forward. “What makes you think there’s another portal?”

She’s asking Merlin like she’s still his Emrys. It’s a little insulting. 

“We tried a tracking spell at the scene of the Incident. Nothing.” The _obviously_ is unspoken but going by Morgana’s pursed lips she still hears it. Perhaps he hasn’t gotten rid of all of his bad habits from his days as her Apprentice either.

Freya scratches a line through "B."

Morgana narrows her eyes. It’s a calculating look. If she comes up with a decent idea Merlin is prepared to forgive her for stepping on his toes. Hell, he’ll hand the title right back if she really wants it. 

“There’s another option,” she says slowly. “If he was alive when he was taken into the portal and he’s not anywhere else then….”

Freya’s eyes go huge. “He might still be in the Ether. Fuck,” her eyes shoot to Morgana. “Sorry, I curse when I’m nervous.”

“You curse all the time,” Merlin corrects. 

Freya flips him off and Morgana is snickering again. Inviting her is a _very_ bad idea. Her and Freya will likely be conspiring against him in no time.

“What’s the longest someone has ever survived in the Ether?” Freya asks.

Merlin rubs his jaw. “As far as I know….three weeks but they didn’t come out themselves.” He grimaces.

“They got possessed by a demon?” Which is good as a death sentence.

Morgana hums. “But we _do_ know one person who has been into the Ether and made it out alive.” She raises her eyes meaningfully at Merlin. It’s a look she’s given him a thousand times. One that says, you should have thought of this. It’s annoying because she’s right.

“Alright, yeah. I can talk to Dr. Muirden tomorrow.”

Freya nods. “So….we have three weeks to find Mordred? Before….”

Merlin cracks his neck as he stands. “Before he’s certainly gone forever? Yes. Alright, Freya I want you to review the case from Halloween again. See if we missed anything obvious the first time. We’ll also need to start reading all first hand accounts of the Ether from the Archives.” He gestures to the hand written journals lining the shelves.

“I can help,” Morgana says.

“You don’t have to.”

“I _want_ to.” Merlin spares a grateful smile and Morgana gestures to the monitor. “You’ll have to update me on how to use this though, it’s been awhile. And it looks like you’ve added a lot of bells and whistles.”

Freya perks up immediately. “I can show you!” Oh yes, Freya is going to worship the ground beneath Morgana’s feet in no time.

Merlin turns his attention to the thick tome still on his desk from Halloween. The same picture greets him: A cloaked woman with black eyes stands above a rather graphic depiction of a dead body. The _Hellhounds_ surround her. There’s something about the picture that Merlin is _missing,_ something different that he knows should be obvious but he can’t put his finger on it. 

He flips to the other pages: a flock of _harpies_ , claws dragging the intestines of _something_ ; a _hag_ , humanoid in shape but nothing else human about it, eyes large as saucers bright as the moon, hunched over a pile of rock in the forest; the _dorocha_ , white and misty, faces tortured in agony, drawn so it appears to be bursting from the page. He shudders at the picture. They are one of those monsters that _do_ take an interest in humans but thankfully they must be summoned. As he’s staring at the horrifying face it suddenly hits him what is so odd about the _Hellhound_ illustration.

None of the other pictures have a Sorcerer in them.

“Merlin?” Freya’s voice pulls him from his musings. His name is laced with fear as she catches his eye over top of the monitor. “All the sensors on the Quad just went dark. I think it’s _back_.”

\--

“Have you thought anymore about what you might try to do next semester?” Gwen asks him as they walk down the wide pathway beside the Quad. 

It’s dark so there isn’t a sea of students in the grass, though the colder temperatures have started deterring even the most stubborn loungers. She doesn’t ask why Arthur doesn’t cut down the side streets or alleys between buildings to shorten their walk home. And Arthur is grateful because he’s not sure he could explain why he tries his best not to spend time in the shadows.

Gwen has proven herself to be excellent company and a wonderful roommate. She keeps similar hours to him so Arthur has started actually spending time at the apartment. After they moved her in she took one look at their measly pantry and said she’d be cooking them dinner as a form of thanks. Arthur tried to let her know that she didn’t have to do that but Elyan had clapped his shoulder and said, _she’s a force to be reckoned with when she sets her mind to something. Easier to admit defeat early because before you know what happened, you’ll be joining the cause._

He has learned that Gwen is a phenomenal chef and is more mechanically inclined than Arthur will ever be, fixing the leaking faucet in their bathroom which Elyan and Arthur hadn’t touched for months, and a television fanatic. She looked absolutely appalled when he said he doesn’t think he’s even turned on a TV in the past few years. Elyan is much more social with his sister around, revealing himself to be an avid video game player and fiercely competitive but Gwen can smoke them both at Mario Kart no matter how many times they play.

Arthur feels like he might have friends for the first time in his adult life. It’s a pathetic sort of realization.

Arthur blows out an unsteady breath. He’s still getting used to the whole friendship thing. The part where you tell each other your hopes and dreams and fears. “I think I’m going to have to take the semester off. Then I might apply to be an RA for the fall.”

In passing Gwen mentioned that she was leaving campus early because she didn’t want to walk alone at night and Arthur offered to walk home with her if she stayed after dark. It made him leave at a sort of reasonable time and, if he’s being honest, he doesn’t particularly want to walk home by himself either.

Gwen flashes him a small smile. “That’s a good idea.”

Right now it’s Arthur’s _only_ idea. Because he’s given up any hope that Merlin will come around.

Just thinking about Merlin reminds him of their first encounter and the temperature seems to drop all at once.

Gwen pulls her jacket tighter. “God, it’s colder this year than usual.”

Arthur’s throat closes with fear.

He doesn’t realize he’s stopped walking until Gwen turns around to look at him. “Arthur, are you alright?”

He lets out an uneasy breath. It’s nothing. This isn’t like last time. It’s not three in the morning, the sun just set an hour or two ago. Campus is still bustling, he can hear some students laughing in the distance, he’s not _alone_. Merlin said it wasn’t going to bother him again. It’s not like --

A snarl.

Just like in his nightmares.

“Run!”

Gwen screams or he screams and he pulls her after him, the two of them slipping over the wet grass and back toward the Science Center.

Gwen lets out a shrill shriek as the monster jumps in front of them. Hackles raised, fangs bared, heavy paw burning the grass and filling the world with the acrid stench of smoke. He doesn’t know if it’s the same one as last time, doesn’t know how many of these monsters exist. The shadows are melting around it, blocking out all light until the world is completely black. Only glowing red eyes remain visible.

It lunges toward them. Arthur moves to pull Gwen behind him, take the brunt of the attack when something slams into his side and he stumbles back a few steps.

He is expecting to see a second monster but instead there is Gwen looking fierce and determined as she sticks her hand out in front of them, hand clutched around something Arthur can’t see. “Get back!” she yells.

Arthur jumps to the side as she unloads a can of pepper spray right into the creature’s face.

It screams in agony and Arthur blinks against the sting in his eyes from the pepper spray and the pain of the creature that seems to dig down to his heart. Gwen takes a step forward and he grabs her shoulders so she can’t get closer to the wailing beast.

It’s head snaps to the side, ear perked and screams again. Then there is a burst of gold and it sails through the air where it disappears with a puff of smoke.

Arthur turns to see two very familiar figures. Shock colors everything else.

“ _Morgana_?”

Morgana looks equally horrified and stunned to see him. “ _Arthur_?”

Merlin looks back at Arthur, his eyes turning from obsidian black to their normal blue, with complete exasperation and lets loose a rather hysterical laugh. “Why is it that whenever there is a vicious monster present I always find _you_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Updates on Wednesdays!
> 
> Next Chapter Features: Monsters and Magic 101
> 
> Comments and kudos are the best :D


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was recently pointed out to me that this story is scheduled to finish the week before Halloween...so I took it upon myself to up the chapter count by two so it will finish on Halloween :)

The workshop throws Morgana back in time, to simpler days, days she hated but now that she has the privilege of rose-colored glasses don’t seem so bad.

It’s different in many ways. Merlin’s foray into the cyberpunk aesthetic back when he was her Apprentice is now a full blown lifestyle choice. There are gears and wires and computers everywhere.

But underneath all that, it’s the same ratty furniture and protective herbs strung along the walls making the place smell like a forest after a heavy rainfall. Morgana can still see small clues from her time running the room. The purple stain on the ceiling from when her first potion exploded, the mug she bought for Gaius as a joke when she Ascended to Emrys that says “World’s Greatest Grandpa” sits dirty in the dish rack, the portrait she did of Alice, eyes crinkled in laughter, is tacked next to a map of campus. It was completed during one of their particularly slow days when she and Merlin would go drink coffee downstairs and he fiddled away on his computer trying to unlock the secrets of magic with the strokes of his keyboard and she sketched the world around them.

The most jarring piece of the picture tonight is all the people wedged into the room. Merlin is not nearly as fastidious about the “no outside guests” rule as Morgana had been. Particularly _her brother_ with no sense of self-preservation seated on the couch next to a woman far braver than Morgana herself. The woman has a blanket wrapped tight around her shoulders. She looked wan and waxen, as if she might be slipping into shock. Freya had given her the blanket and said, _this might make you feel better._

_Is it magic_ , the woman had asked. Her eyes wide with innocence and wonder.

_Um_ , Freya’s face twisted in uncertainty. _No? But I can grab a Calming Draught if you feel like you need one._

Both Morgana and Merlin had advised against that at the moment. It might help at first but you end up with a wicked hangover.

Freya is at one of the tables in the back, wearing an old cap backwards and tongue between her teeth in concentration as she pops the sensors open, handing the chips to Merlin at the Scanner. They snagged a few sensors on their way back so Freya and Merlin can run diagnostics. Apparently they are very lucky. They only recently updated the system to recognize a series of outages as a potential sighting. 

She’s seated on a table to the side, watching Merlin type away at the computer.

When it seems like no one is going to take the lead she kicks Merlin’s shoulder.

“ _Ow_.”

“Come on, Emrys,” she says with a small grin. It’s still strange to call him that. “Do your thing.”

Merlin glares at her for several long moments before turning to the couch. “This is going to sound incredibly rude,” he says to the woman next to Arthur and Morgana resists the urge to roll her eyes. It seems his people skills have only gotten worse since she retired. “But who are you?”

The woman looks up with wide eyes. She has a very pretty face, round, with warm brown eyes.

“Oh, um. Gwen?” She says it like a question and Morgana finds herself smiling. The woman nervously brushes aside a few stray curls. “My name is Gwen. Gwen Smith.”

It’s a common last name but Merlin looks at Morgana over his shoulder before he asks, “you wouldn’t happen to be related to Elyan Smith….would you?”

The woman’s eyes go even wider and she’s looking at Morgana now. The room feels just a few degrees warmer under her scrutiny. “You know my brother?”

“No,” it’s the truth. It's not the _whole_ truth but this woman has clearly never seen a supernatural entity in her life. They really don’t have time to get into why they know Elyan. It seems like a conversation Gwen should have with her brother.

Which reminds her. She turns to Merlin. “Why was a _Hellhound_ after Arthur?”

It takes Merlin too long to make eye contact. Bad news then. “We think he’s Marked.”

Any warmth has been sucked from her bones as an ice grip clenches around her heart. She looks at Arthur and knows there is too much fear on her face. It’s been too long since she’s had to school her every expression. It was easier to lie when she did it under the guise of Emrys.

Arthur is looking at her closely, leaning forward, studying her. He’s going to see too much. He’s too good at reading people. “Why do you know so much about this, Morgana?”

There’s a loud pop from the corner as Freya cracks another sensor open. “Sorry, but how do you two know each other?” she asks, gesturing with a cartridge between the two of them.

Arthur shrugs. “She’s my sister.”

Merlin turns to Morgana with a glare. “That’s funny, you never once mentioned to _me_ you had a brother.”

Before she can defend herself and ask why Merlin would even _care_ that she has a brother, or point out that Merlin isn’t exactly sharing his life story either, Arthur is talking. “I think,” he says, “the real question that needs to be answered is how you two know each other?”

Merlin opens his mouth to retort but snaps it shut. She’s never seen Merlin like this. So quick to answer, acting on impulse. Not since his first few weeks as Apprentice.

Interesting.

But it’s not the most pressing issue at the moment. She wants to test how much Arthur really knows. “Because I was Merlin’s Emrys and he was my Apprentice.”

There is a look that might be relief on Arthur’s face and then anger. _Pendragon_ anger. The fierce kind that sneaks up on Morgana and stokes the storms that billow deep in her gut.

Arthur clenches his jaw and glares. “Why didn’t you ever tell me that? Or that magic is real? Or that monsters could attack me at any point?”

Her nostrils flare, it’s too easy to get the Pendragon anger going. Impossible to stop it once the fire is roaring. “As if you would have believed me! And how do _you_ know so much?”

“I’ve been attacked,” Arthur says with a sneer. “Twice.”

Freya pipes up again from the corner. “He also asked for a job.”

Morgana feels like she’s getting whiplash, remembering her conversation with Arthur about pursuing different lines of funding. This is certainly not what she had in mind. “You _what_?”

Merlin goes so far as to _pout_. “Gaius even let him read the handbook.”

So apparently Arthur knows a hell of a lot more than she thought. She gives him a long look. “I didn’t tell you because things from the Ether hardly ever bother people without magic. They pick up far more interest once they know you are aware of them. Something is wrong.”

Arthur gives an empty chuckle and Gwen shoots him a nervous look. “No shit.”

She shakes her head. “No, Arthur, you don’t understand. When I was Emrys there was one summer I saw just two _harpies_. And the following fall there were just a few supernatural entities. The creatures are always more active in the winter because the nights are longer but this….this is….”

Merlin crosses his arms. “This is as bad as it was when they first started the program.”

Morgana gives him a long look. “I can help, Merlin. Let me.” She means for it to sound imploring but it comes out far too authoritative. It’s time for a change of tactics. “We can figure it out _together_. Fuck, we can call a goddman Emrys convention. There is enough of us bastards still hanging around campus.”

Merlin makes a noncommittal noise that isn’t technically no.

“Oooh,” Freya says, dumping a handful of chips on Merlin’s desk. “Might not want to advertise too much about needing help.” She looks at Merlin. “You should tell them about the deadline.”

Merlin glares at Freya for several long moments before deflating. “The new president wants to cancel the program. We have until December 18th.”

The ice around Morgana’s heart seems to crack. “Uther Pendragon?”

She doesn’t look at Arthur and Arthur definitely doesn’t look at her, keeping his eyes fixed on to ground. It seems they would both rather not confess their ties to their father.

Merlin hums. “Evidently I’m doing a terrible job. Gaius has been trying to get him to push back the date but….apparently he was using Mordred’s disappearance as leverage the last time they talked.” Merlin shakes his head. “He wants to bring in _bounty hunters_.” Morgana narrows her eyes. The campus will be a far worse place with Morgause Gorlois strutting around.

“Sorry,” Gwen says, raising her hand as if she’s asking the teacher a question in class. “I hate to interrupt, but can someone please tell me _what_ is happening? I think I must have misheard something along the way. Or possibly passed out. Or I'm possibly dreaming? A nightmare?”

Those brown eyes are back on Morgana and she finds she doesn’t want to disappoint and the truth is always disappointing. Morgana makes a sweeping gesture for Merlin to take the floor. He scowls at her.

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Freya sticks out a hand. “Hi, I’m Freya. I’m an Apprentice to Emrys,” she points at Merlin, “who is the resident Defender of Camelot. He hunts supernatural entities that sometimes stumble their way into this dimension. The thing that attacked you was a _Hellhound_ and we don’t know why it’s attacking people but we think it’s involved in the disappearance of Mordred Evans, I think he lived in your apartment building? It probably won’t bother you again because it seems to be after Arthur but just to be safe we’ll provide you with some charms on the way out. But the gold is going to take a few hours to absorb the magic so you’ll have to wait. Oh, and try not to walk alone at night.” She gives Arthur an apologetic shrug. “And definitely don’t walk with Arthur.”

Gwen’s mouth is open in a perfect “oh” and she looks at Morgana like she’s hoping she’ll contradict them. “I….I have to present at a seminar tomorrow? I can’t just... _stay_ here all night.”

Arthur rests a hand on her back and Gwen instantly relaxes. Ah, that explains it then. Arthur always did get crushes on the prettiest people. She looks away from Gwen’s face. Shame.

Merlin makes a rather unsympathetic noise. “And in the morning Freya has a Physics exam and I’ve got to deal with a griffin that’s terrifying the local wildlife and Morgana’s got to teach. Welcome to the wonderful world of monster hunting. I can almost guarantee you are not going to enjoy your stay.”

\--

A tentative plan is better than nothing.

Or at least, that is the lie Merlin is currently feeding himself as he sits in grass damp from the rain of the day, biting wind working a chill down to his bones, under a bright moon painting the world in shades of blue. Across from the street sits Mordred’s building. The Sorcerer is obscured from sight by an overgrown bush and a little magic. The scene of the crime is on full display. _Hellhounds_ typically return to the site of their portals. Nothing about the attack is normal but Merlin has to cover all his bases.

Three weeks, minus the six days since the Incident, isn’t a whole lot of time. It isn’t _any_ time really. According to the Archives twenty-three people have entered the Ether over the past two hundred years. The accounts of the non-magical people who found themselves on the wrong side of the Ether are taken from Ermys observations. None of those people were ever able to offer a first-hand account. Most disappeared. A handful emerged at a later date, morphed and twisted and dark. Demons.

Of those twenty-three people misfortune enough to enter the other dimension, seven of them were serving as Emrys.

Three of them tethered themselves like a fucking astronaut in outer space and waded in. The first was killed immediately. The other two didn’t get more than one foot in the portal before retreating.

_Terrors beyond comprehension_ , they wrote in their journal.

A new rule was added to the handbook.

> _RULE NUMBER FIFTY ONE: Do not enter the Ether._

The other four were taken in against their will, during a monster attack gone wrong. Two of them died. One of them showed up three weeks later oozing black ichor and a shell of their former self.

One went in, disappeared for six days, and came out alive. And he happens to be Merlin’s thesis advisor.

Dr. Muirden shook his head and shrugged as Merlin slid over the latest edition of the program. Merlin felt bad for asking. He had a policy where he didn’t push Victims into talking about the horrors of the world if they weren’t ready. Not unless it was an emergency.

Muirden’s eyes took on a far off look as he stared at the poster of the jade green forest and shuddered. _It’s just like I said in my journal. I don’t remember anything._

The account was mostly penned by the Apprentice-turned-Emrys after Muirden’s disappearance. It was largely the same as the other records: the moment Emrys entered the Ether, all their powers flowed into the Apprentice and they Ascended. The Apprentice became the new Emrys.

The Emrys magic and the Ether don’t mix.

Dr. Muirden gave Merlin an encouraging smile. _If I made it out, Mordred can too. And anything you need me to do to help, you don’t even have to ask._

Merlin thanked him but they are going to need a hell of a lot more than optimism to save Mordred.

“You’re thinking so loud you are going to scare off the monsters.”

Merlin shoots a glare at an incredibly smug looking Arthur.

Having Arthur tag along is perhaps the worst part of the tentative plan.

Morgana had betrayed him _thoroughly_ by suggesting the idea in the first place. 

_We need to split up. You need to do big Emrys stuff and Freya needs to do little Emrys stuff and I can tackle everything that shouldn’t be your responsibility but is because you can’t tell people ‘no.’_ Merlin opened his mouth to argue and Morgana gave him a fierce glare. _I know you still get rid of the harpies on top of this building and Alice’s house even though she’s more than capable of doing it herself._

Merlin crossed his arms. _She’s old._

_She has magic!_

_What if I need assistance in the field?_

Morgana gave him a smile only a fool would describe as sweet. _Word on the street is, there’s been a new volunteer._

It was a battle Merlin was destined to lose from the start. Merlin could not believe what he was hearing.

_You want your brother out hunting monsters?_ He asked, incredulous.

She shrugged. _If he really is Marked then he is far safer with you than anywhere else, a protective charm is only so effective. And knowing Arthur if he really wants to be involved in something, it’s going to happen anyway._

“So,” Arthur says, quirking one eyebrow in a horribly arrogant expression, “when do we get to the part when you start to teach me, oh Great Emrys?”

Merlin glares at him. “You aren’t a real Apprentice.” And if Merlin has his way he’s _never_ going to be.

“And what does that take?” Arthur is so fucking curious Merlin can hardly stand it.

“You have to swear an oath,” he snaps, hoping this will be the end of the conversation. 

It’s more complicated than that, though Merlin is pretty sure the ceremony is more symbolic than anything else. Emrys and Apprentice take a boat to a little island in the middle of the river, sit on the bank and the Apprentice swears themselves a student of Emrys. If the magic thinks they are worthy, they become an Apprentice. And the Trials of the Emrys Ascension begin.

Arthur hums, “that’s it?” Merlin doesn’t respond or look at him, keeping his gaze firmly fixated on the point of the ground where the portal was. It’s nearing three in the morning. If the _Hellhound_ is going to make an appearance, it will happen soon.

From the corner of his eye he sees Arthur moving, up from where he’s leaning back on his elbows to put a hand over his heart, “then I swear to pledge my allegiance to you and --”

The Emrys magic starts humming, buzzing. Merlin’s eyes flare gold as the power flows through his veins, fire just under his skin. He lets it propel him forward, with preternatural speed. His hand moves viper fast and clamps over Arthur’s mouth. 

Arthur’s eyes are wide as Merlin leans in to hiss, “lesson one: don’t fuck around with things you don’t understand.” He’s so close he can see the gold reflection of his own eyes in Arthur’s, his magic still thrumming hot through his body. “Rule Number Two: Magic is serious and words are the strongest force we have to wake it and _wield_ it.”

Arthur nods and Merlin realizes he still has his hand over his mouth. He can feel Arthur’s lips move as he goes to say something and snatches his hand back. He lets out a long breath to cool the power in his veins, let the chill of the night carry off some of the energy.

“I’m sorry.” With his magic so out of control he can sense Arthur’s earnestness, the way it practically radiates off him, the way it shines in his eyes. Merlin can’t look away. Up close he can see little gray specs scattered into the cool blue of his iris. “I won’t do it again.”

Merlin swallows and nods. He scoots back, puts a few very safe inches between him and Arthur. His original assessment was right. Arthur has the magnetism of a sun and if Merlin isn’t careful he’ll be pulled right into his orbit with everyone else.

It’s quiet for one blissful second when Arthur says, “can I ask you something?” Merlin imagines Arthur will likely end up asking regardless so he gestures for him to go on. “Well, it’s just -- I know you hate me --”

“I don’t hate you.” He says it too fast.

Arthur furrows his brow. “Then what --”

His Emrys magic is still swirling, bubbling stronger than usual and he can sense what Arthur _really_ wants to ask. What is it about _him_ that makes him so unfit for this job?

And goddammit if Merlin doesn’t want to give Arthur what he wants. For now.

“It’s the same answer as last time,” Merlin says, reaching for kindness but not sure he fully grasps it. “No one should have to do this _at all_ and it’s even worse that you don’t have magic. It’s nothing personal, it’s a fact. You simply aren’t equipped to deal with this stuff. I mean -- fuck -- _Mordred_ had two full years of training and he still went missing.” Merlin gestures to the scene before them, red washed away by November rain, though the char marks remain. “If you were my Apprentice and something happened to you it would be entirely my fault.” He clenches his teeth. “No one should be forced to be a part of this world.”

Arthur is quiet, a line between his brows in thought. Merlin doesn’t know when he started cataloguing Arthur’s expressions, doesn’t know how to stop. “But no one is forcing me.”

Merlin chuckles in spite of himself and the Emrys magic settles and retreats. He’s just Merlin again. “Right, you and your _choices_ ,” he says, remembering their first encounter.

Arthur gives him a small smile. “It seems to me this world is going to bother me whether or not I want it to.” He taps at his chest where beneath his shirt the protective charm must rest. A gold triskelion, the standard charm, provided to both Arthur and Gwen before they left the workshop. Arthur looking eager and Gwen looking a little nauseous. “Why not try and learn as much as I can and get ahead of it? I don’t actually want your job I just….I want to know _more_.”

Merlin studies for Arthur for a long moment. Moonlight always washes Merlin out, makes him pale and skeletal, one with the shadows. It makes Arthur glow.

“Knowledge is dangerous,” he says. It’s the truth.

Arthur cocks an eyebrow. “I think that depends on how you wield it.”

Arthur is unlike anyone Merlin has ever met. His outlook on life is nearly nauseating with its optimism. Merlin can’t imagine living that way. “What the hell are you studying here?” he jokes.

Arthur grins. “Guess.”

Merlin knows what Arthur is studying. He has spent an embarrassing amount of time running a search for him on the computer. He’s in the English Department, nearly finished with his PhD, working under Dr. Annis Caerleon. There are multiple articles on the front page of the Department website. And he is one of two grad students in his department that actually has good reviews on that website where students can rank their professors.

But Merlin likes the smile Arthur is wearing, carefree and just a little smug, so he plays along to look at it for just a little longer.

“Modern Pretentiousness in the 21st Century.”

Arthur lets loose a chuckle. Loud, like it surprised him. Merlin doesn’t want to acknowledge how much he likes the sound. “And what discipline does that fall under?” Arthur’s tone is light and teasing and it makes Merlin burn a little hotter.

Merlin purses his lips and pretends to consider it. “Political Science.”

Arthur’s grinning wide and Merlin’s magic thrums. “Nailed it, first guess. Can you read minds too?”

“Only if requested.”

Arthur raises his eyebrows. “Can you really?”

So curious. This stupid, stupid man is perhaps the most curious person Merlin has ever met. “You _really_ want to see the world from my eyes?” Arthur nods and even though the Emrys magic is no longer reading his mood, Merlin knows he’s being genuine. Merlin nods in the direction of the telephone wires just across the street, barely visible against the indigo sky. “You see those?”

“The crows?” he asks, skeptical.

Merlin hums and holds out his palm. “Take my hand.”

There’s not even a second of hesitation and Merlin really needs to make sure Arthur’s next lesson is about why he shouldn’t _blindly_ trust magical beings, especially someone with as much magic as Merlin. But then Arthur’s hand is in his. There’s a thrumming in his veins and tingling in his arms and warmth radiating from the place where his skin meets Arthur’s and he’s not sure he can attribute it to magic.

He ignores it, lets some of the Emrys magic go and pass into Arthur at the place where their hands are entwined.

Merlin nods to the electrical wires. “Look again.”

He watches Arthur’s face as his jaw drops with an audible click and the hand in his tightens involuntarily. “What the fuck happened to the crows?”

Merlin has to bite his cheek so he doesn’t laugh. “They’re _harpies_.” They’re ugly creatures with wings twice the size of their body, a head too large for its small stature, and a face that looks more like it’s carved from stone than anything resembling a human. Their talons are nearly as large as their head. Merlin has no idea which Emrys named them but they did a piss poor job. They don’t exactly resemble the legends of Ancient Greece. “Fucking nuisance, let me tell you. Coming and going as they please, making nests for Christ’s sake, day or night. Damn near impossible to get rid of.”

With more reluctance than there should be, he pulls his hand from Arthur’s. The other man narrows his eyes. “Then how could I see the _Hellhound_?”

Merlin rubs his brow bone and tries to come up with a good explanation. “Big things, like a monster chasing you across campus, it’s harder to lie to yourself about. It’s obvious and in your face. Maybe after you can convince yourself it was a dog or a bear or whatever but it’s hard to deny the evidence when it is breathing down your neck. But a weird looking bird that isn’t giving you any problems?” He shrugs. “Why try to make it into something it’s not?”

Arthur looks back at the _harpies_. “I can still see them?”

Merlin nods. “Once you’ve seen the truth your mind doesn’t shy away from it anymore. You’re lucky it’s not summer, you’d hate to see what flies amongst the lightning bugs.” Arthur is studying him again so Merlin turns his gaze back to the char marks. “It’s part of the reason why I didn’t want you to join in the first place, why _no one_ without magic should join. I told you that most people have seen magic but because they didn’t know that’s what they were seeing, they’ve convinced themselves it is something else. But once you know it’s so much easier to see it everywhere. Your brain starts paying attention to stuff it never noticed before and once it does...sometimes things notice you back.”

It’s another long moment as Arthur considers his words. “Then I’d rather at least be prepared for what might notice me, then I’d have a chance.”

Impossible. Arthur DeBois is an impossible sort of man. Merlin shoots him an incredulous look. “You _really_ think knowing what monster is stalking you might save your life? Despite the fact that you have no way to fight it?”

Arthur shrugs. “Why not?”

Merlin grins a little in spite of himself. “You learn that self-confidence in one of your Pretentiousness lectures?”

“Nah, my father covered those.” Arthur leans forward. “So if this thing doesn’t show up….what do we do next?”

Merlin glances down at his watch to see 3:00 am has come and gone and the beast in question is nowhere to be found. He sighs. “I hope you weren’t joking about being fond of books because it means there is a hell of a lot of reading in our future.”

Arthur gives a little smile. “And I’ll get to learn about magic?”

“Sure,” Merlin says, standing up and offering a hand to help Arthur to his feet. A spark seems to pass between them and Merlin hastily pulls his hand back. “I’ll tell you all about magic.”

\--

Magic is a very generic term for an incredibly diverse phenomenon. 

Most people have it, at least a little bit. Some people are born fortuitous, guessing their way through exams, catching the bus right when it pulls up, receiving an extra candy bar at the vending machine. They usually call it luck.

In others it is more obvious and these people are christened “gifted.” A phenomenal opera singer, a gardener with a particularly green thumb, a lawyer who never loses a case, a parent who can miraculously locate their child’s missing soccer cleats right before they need to leave for practice. This magic is weak, humming under the surface and not quite enough to experience the peculiar truth of the world around them.

Of course, there are also those with magic so strong they can’t help but know they are different. Magic might let you manipulate the world around you, in feats both great and small; it could manifest as nightmares that have a nasty habit of coming true; as the ability to sense the thoughts of your peers, even _share_ your own thoughts, willing or not. Sometimes it can let you see things about other people that you have no right to see.

Freya Delia has the misfortune of being in the latter category.

She grew up in a small town. The kind you hear about in country songs, the old kind, the _best_ kind. The songs about a sky that goes on for miles and a single stoplight and pastures of wheat and rye. The location was fine, it was the people that made life hard.

The neighbors would hiss as she and her younger brother walked by, about the house on a hill with a _witch_ who could tell your future if she looked in your eye. Her brother always squeezed her hand tight in a silent plea to say nothing, even though those people made Freya so _angry_. 

They were wrong of course. It wasn’t her mother who had the magic. It was Freya.

Freya could read a person’s mood in the air around them, their _aura_ , a term she learned in a magazine she snuck it under her bed. Because that had to be what she was seeing, wasn’t it? The faint glow that radiated off everyone. A quick glance told her their immediate moods. Red for anger, blue for sadness, yellow for joy. But a _long_ look would tell her more, about the kind of person they were, about their thoughts and feelings, about the things they want to _hide_. And a touch would paint their entire life behind her eyelids. All their most intimate moments laid bare for her to see.

She doesn’t remember how the business started, how her mother realized Freya could see clear into a person’s soul with a tap of her finger, but Freya would give anything to forget all those people. The same people who gossiped about the witch would come in their hypocritical glory in the dead of night with a tentative knock on the backdoor of their shitty run down home. Freya would answer, usher them into their sitting room making sure she brushed up against them and she’d be hit with their fear, their worries, all their ugly angry emotions would burn through her as if they were her own.

She’d whisper their fears in her mother's ear before taking her own seat. Her mother would tell them exactly what they wanted to hear before sending them on their way and they would always tip generously.

Those people may have left their home but they never really left Freya.

She learned not to look too closely. When she has a really good grip on her magic she can almost block out the auras entirely. But if she doesn’t have her own emotions in check it is so much easier to experience everyone else’s.

She’s sitting in the middle of the dining hall, at a table by herself, trying to calm down, trying to ignore the symphony of voices in the room around her. It isn’t quite working. She keeps imaging a crack resounding through the universe, right behind her and turning only to --

When she is afraid her magic is hard to control.

“You knew him,” a girl behind her hisses, shocked and _hungry_ , eager for gruesome details about the man gone missing. 

Freya’s heart picks up double time.

When she is angry the magic is impossible to reign in.

“I mean,” a boy answers, aloof and arrogant, _thrilled_ to have a story she wants to hear, Freya clenches her jaw until it aches, “we weren’t friends or anything but a kid on my floor worked at Rosie’s with him.” A sound of shuffling, a whisper. “Rumor has it, he was into some bad shit. Not surprising that it happened.”

Her blood boils.

She could be Mordred. No that’s not it, she _is_ Mordred. She’s Mordred five years ago. And he went through all the training and _failed_. That could very well be her fate but she can’t let it happen. And these people are _joking_ about it?

It’s too much.

She whips around and glares. “So you’re saying he deserved to vanish without a trace because of the life he lived?”

Their auras are so strong she can’t even make out their expressions, but the white bursting into the gold and pink tells her they are surprised.

It seems quieter. All the tables near them have gone silent, turning to watch the show. Freya doesn’t really care.

The boy finds his voice first. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

She shouldn’t have said anything but she’s already dug the hole. “So how did you _mean it_?”

The boy seems at a loss for words because she knows he can’t articulate what he meant without sounding like an asshole.

The girl leans forward with bright eyes, still hungry for information. “Did _you_ know him?”

A voice to her right. “Don’t be so immature. Quit gossiping and show some respect. He was a human being not a character on a TV show.”

She looks up to see the woman from the other night -- Gwen -- glaring at the table behind her before taking a seat next to Freya.

A hand on her arm. 

Freya is gone.

_She’s in a garden, not her own, in a frilly dress on Easter morning, eager to hunt eggs and beat her brother who said she was going to lose because she is a girl. A woman picks her up and spins her until she shrieks with laughter. It’s the only memory she has of her._

_She’s in a bedroom, recently painted purple staring at her best friend as she rips out the pages of a magazine to tack to the walls. She’s studying her, committing all the details to memory: the lip between her teeth in concentration, brow furrowed as she tries for a perfect crease. A storm of butterflies take flight deep in the pit of her stomach. Her friend catches her staring and grins. The butterflies move to her throat._

_A dark room. She’s hunched beside her bed. Phone in hand. Her brother and father are screaming at one another in her kitchen. She’s too old to hide but she can’t help it. The only person she wants to call is a girl she hasn’t seen since the summer before she turned thirteen. When she thought hanging up pictures counted as rebellion. For the first time in a long takes she aches with the absence of her mother. She wants to scream --_

“Freya?”

A gasp and she’s back in a cafeteria. Fluorescent lights, maroon plastic chairs, faux wood laminate tables. The smell of grease and body odor. Her breathing is too loud but the voices around her mute it. She’s no longer interesting enough to gawk at. She glances over at Gwen who’s looking at her with a crease between her brows. 

Guilt floods her veins. There are lines Freya tries very hard not to cross and one of them is Reading someone without their permission.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, tears prickling at the corners of her eyes, heart still aching at the loss of a friend that was never even hers. Of a mother who left one night without looking back and a brother it took too many years to reconcile with.

Gwen tilts her head to the side. “What are you sorry for?” She nods behind them. “They were the ones being assholes.”

Freya swallows. “I --” she doesn’t have the words to concisely explain, not in this crowded cafeteria. “I’m just sorry.” Freya furiously wipes at her tears. “Are you alright? I kind of assumed I would never see you again.”

Gwen looks at her own hands clasped on the table. “To be honest, I didn’t want to see any of you again.” She gives a humorless chuckle. “I’ve even been avoiding Arthur around the apartment. But I saw you upset and those people were being rude. So….here I am.”

Freya lets out a long breath, lets her magic cool and settle around her like a skin. She needs to get it under control. She’s already invaded Gwen’s privacy once and she doesn’t want to do it again. Not if they are going to have this conversation.

Freya is not technically qualified to handle this conversation but Gwen clearly needs to talk about it. And she’s supposed to be handling some of the Emrys stuff, right?

What would Emrys do?

No, Emrys is a bullshit title, born of magic and necessity and not _real_.

What would _Merlin_ do?

Merlin who is weighed down by power, bleeding him dry, taking his energy but still _trying_ . She likes Merlin. He’s like the older brother she never had, because the older brother she _did_ have was a fuckup of colossal proportions. But Merlin is not like that. He’s fiercely protective of everyone in the Operation, even though he hates being Emrys. He bends over backwards to help anyone who needs it, even though he acts like he despises doing anyone favors. He builds the walls around his heart taller than anyone Freya has ever met and yet he cares so goddamn much. And no matter how much Freya fucks up (which in the beginning she did _a lot_ ) he never gets mad, not really. He is always patient and understanding and the very first thing he asked her was what she wanted to learn first.

_I don’t want to see inside people’s hearts anymore._

He didn’t even bat an eye at the request, just taught her ways to gather her magic, to push other people out and keep herself in.

She wants to make him proud.

So Freya pushes down her magic and cracks an uneasy smile. “Guess that makes you my knight in shining armor.”

Gwen gives a startled laugh, it’s high pitched and pleasant and her aura glows a bit more, the gray of it fading away. “I’m not sure about that.”

Freya grins. “Come on. You saved your boyfriend the other night with pepper spray, that’s pretty heroic to me.” It sounds really fucking badass and she’s _pissed_ she didn’t get to see it.

Gwen blinks a few times and opens and closes her mouth. “I’m not _dating_ Arthur.” Oops, maybe Freya should pay more attention when she gets an accidental Reading. “Not that he’s not -- I mean, I’m not _interested_ in him --”

Freya shakes her head, rushing to say, “I shouldn’t have assumed -- that’s my fault --”

“ -- not that there’s anything _wrong_ with him, per se but we aren’t --” 

They both stop talking and Freya bursts out laughing. Gwen gives a nervous chuckle.

Freya picks up a flaccid french fry and pushes it around her plate. “We can talk about it, if you want?”

Gwen bites her lip and studies her hands. “The problem is...I don’t know what I want. I can’t talk to Arthur because he’s clearly so... _enraptured_ by this world and I just don’t understand how he can feel that way. But I also don’t want to live in fear and not knowing seems terrifying but knowing might be more terrifying than I can imagine so….” She looks up at last and Freya’s heart aches a little. “I just don’t know.”

“That’s ok.” Freya ditches the fry to rummage around the front pocket of her backpack to grab one of the hundreds of loose business. She grabs a pen and scribbles down her number. “The main number is Merlin’s but he’s pretty busy these days and also can sometimes be a little grumpy,” Gwen gives a small smile at that, “so there’s my number too.”

Gwen looks down at the card. “I don’t think I want to know anymore though.”

Freya shrugs. “But you might change your mind.” She flashes Gwen a smile and starts packing up. She needs to get the workshop before the sun sets.

“Does it….” Gwen trails off as Freya looks down at her. “Does it always look like that? _Magic_?” She whispers the last word.

Freya looks around the room. At the two people in the corner laughing hysterically as they watch a video together, their auras yellow and pink and _huge_ , seeping into the auras around them until those people start to feel it too. There’s someone near the doors on the phone with a fiery orange glow, nostrils flared. A boy sits alone at the back, aura a pleasant gold as he smiles at the test on the table before him. The room is a kaleidoscope of happy and sad and anxious, christ there is a lot of anxious, but there’s also hope and pride and desire and longing and _love_.

Freya gives Gwen a smile. “Magic can be ugly but it can be beautiful too. Just like life. There’s good and there’s bad but most of the time you're stuck somewhere in the middle.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Updates on Wednesdays.
> 
> Next Chapter Features: BAMF!Morgana, thinly veiled flirting, and an ancient magic ritual.
> 
> Comments and kudos are amazing :D


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all, [kickassfu](https://kickassfu.tumblr.com) made an amazing edit for this fic which you should all go check out [here](https://kickassfu.tumblr.com/post/623748083520520192/the-panic-is-thick-enough-to-choke-on-as-the)!
> 
> Also I just want to thank everyone who is following along with the story. All of your comments, kudos, and support mean the world to me ❤️

The wind is biting and whistling this morning, shaking the car as it winds its way down the backroad through the forest. Elyan’s car is outdated, given to him by their father a few years prior when the older man finally bought himself a new one and Elyan came back into their lives after a few years doing God knows what. The heater smells just a little like burnt plastic and stings Gwen’s nose as it blows across her face. She sticks her hands in the pockets of her puffy coat.

There’s a business card there. One she doesn’t want to think about.

She looks over at Elyan drumming his fingers against the wheel and singing along to the radio. It’s a song that was popular back when they were kids. At the time Elyan would have rather died than admit he liked it. He looks so young here in his car, carefree.

It makes the suspicions she’s harboring curdle with guilt in her stomach.

“It was weird what Mrs. Porowski said this morning, wasn’t it?”

Elyan quirks an eyebrow. “I told you,” he shouts over the music, “she probably misplaced them. She’s getting on in years.” The song changes and Elyan pumps his fist in the air before turning up the music louder.

Gwen sighs and shakes her head. Their downstairs neighbor had caught them on the way out and asked if they noticed any items missing. Evidently some of her collectible thimbles have vanished. Elyan had shrugged it off like it wasn’t a big deal. But the other day, hadn’t their other neighbor said the same thing, she keeps losing her earrings.

It's odd. And Gwen has recently learned that odd things mean bad news. She wonders if she should bring it up to Arthur the next time he’s home. Although these days, that seems to be hardly ever.

 _I’m not going to bother you about it_ , he assured her. _If you need space, I understand._

But it’s not really space she wants, it’s clarity.

Gwen chews on her lip. “Do you know anyone named Merlin?” she asks, raising her voice over the radio.

Elyan shoots her a puzzled look. “WHAT?” He yells and Gwen rolls her eyes and turns down the music, ignoring Elyan’s annoyed squawking.

She clears her throat. “Have you ever met anyone named _Merlin_?”

Elyan snorts. “Like this wizard? No, but it would be a pretty badass name. Not the coolest wizard name but,” he shrugs and flips on his turn indicator, taking them down the road that winds around the perimeter of campus. Ever since that boy -- Mordred -- went missing, Elyan has insisted on driving her everywhere. After her run in with the creature from Hell, she stopped disagreeing.

“Are you sure?” Gwen asks, thinking about how her brother looked at Merlin when they left her apartment, like he recognized him. And how Merlin has asked if she was related to someone named _Elyan Smith_. Gwen might be a common name but Elyan sure as hell isn't. It feels like everything in her life is a complicated puzzle that’s going to fit together in the most terrifying way.

Elyan purses his lips. “Well, maybe it _is_ a cool name, I just don’t think he’s the coolest fictional wizard, although his wardrobe in that Disney movie where he is a cooky old man is pretty sick.” 

Gwen blinks at her brother in disdain. “Elyan.”

“Gandalf is pretty badass and --”

“Elyan. That’s not. I --” she shakes her head at how _absurd_ her brother is most of the time. Her suspicions that Elyan is involved in the world of monsters seem utterly ridiculous. “I _meant_ , are you sure you don’t _know_ anyone named Merlin.”

“Oh,” Elyan pouts in disappointment as he no doubt already prepared a twelve-point presentation of the Greatest Fictional Wizards in Modern Media, a lecture Gwen is sure he’ll bring up again when he picks her up this evening. “I’m fairly certain, Gwen. With a name like that, I’d definitely remember.” He flicks the turn indicator again to head into the parking lot behind the Science Center. He pulls up to the curb by the back entrance. “Why do you ask?”

The business card in her pocket seems to pulse. She’s being paranoid. “No reason. Have a fun day with numbers,” she teases, letting herself out of the car.

Elyan rolls his eyes. “Have fun with your potions.” It’s an old joke but it doesn’t sound nearly as funny as it used to. Elyan snaps his fingers getting her attention. “Hey,” he lowers his voice conspiratorially, “that old guy looks a little like Merlin, yeah?”

She turns to see the Emeritus faculty member, Gaius, entering the building and then scowls at her brother. “Don’t be rude, you’re starting to sound ageist.” Elyan makes a _you know I’m right_ face. Gwen rolls her eyes. “Bye,” she says and slams the door.

Elyan is too normal to know anything about this world and if he _did_ , he would tell Gwen. They don’t keep things from each other, not anymore.

And everything that goes wrong in her life probably isn’t the fault of magic because _Gwen_ doesn’t have magic, didn’t even know it existed until just a few days ago. So it doesn’t make sense that magic is the chain linking all these strange pieces together.

Right?

\--

“So it’s like the X-Men?” Arthur asks, keeping his face as serious as he can manage. It’s quiet in the workshop tonight. Freya sits dutifully before the Scanner, open notebook on her lap running through Calculus problems, end of her pencil chewed into a mangled mess. Merlin and Arthur are on research duty.

Arthur is hoping the question will warrant a glance up from Merlin, who has been bent over a rather decrepit book for the better part of the past hour, answering all of Arthur’s questions with curt one-word answers.

It’s been nine days since Mordred went missing and seeing as the _Hellhound_ has yet to return, a deep dive in the ancient texts is Merlin’s solution. 

Arthur’s life has become a shocking juxtaposition of the mundane and the impossible, the setting of the sun the dividing line. Daytime is reserved for reality, for classes, and lectures, and office hours where students never show up, and typing until his eyes start to go fuzzy, and working toward an end goal that doesn't seem as important as it used to. 

But that world doesn’t quite hold the appeal it once did because at night he gets to enter the world of magic, a world of monsters and potions and _books_.

He’s particularly fond of the Bestiary, the book with all the supernatural creatures, named and identified by all the previous Sorcerers who held the Emrys position. He can’t believe all these creatures exist and they are all _right there_ and he never _saw_ it. He can’t believe so many people go through this world blind. That people, like Elena and Gwen, _want_ to stay in the dark. For every piece of information Arthur gets, he finds himself wanting _more_.

According to Morgana, who Arthur suspects is likely avoiding him even though he’s told her many times he isn’t mad, it is in his best interest to stick as close to Merlin as possible once the sun has set. And even though Merlin assured him the wards he placed on Arthur’s building will keep just about anything out, he likes the new arrangement. He gets to learn about magic _and_ he gets to annoy Merlin.

Arthur looks up from the Bestiary, a picture of a Sorcerer surrounded by _Hellhounds_ on full display, to see Merlin looking at him in disdain. Freya snorts at the computer.

Merlin scrubs his hands over his eyes and gives Arthur a particularly scathing look. Arthur glows with pride. Point Arthur. “I _know_ I am going to regret asking but _what_ exactly is like the X-Men?”

“Magic,” Arthur says, reveling in the way Merlin’s eyes shoot toward the heavens as if praying for a deity to grant him strength. “You said it can manifest as specialties like mind reading or mood enhancing or super strength --”

Merlin scowls. “I _never_ said super strength.”

Arthur raises an eyebrow and fights back a smirk. “You said telekinesis. Which means that a Sorcerer could use their magic to make objects lighter. It’s sort of like super strength.”

Freya hums. “He’s got a point, Emrys.”

Merlin glares at Freya before narrowing his eyes at Arthur. “So you’re like a huge nerd?”

Arthur raises his eyebrows, “says the guy who spends his days messing around with computer codes.”

Merlin presses his lips together for a few long moments. Arthur doesn’t know why he’s pushing Merlin. Arthur is fairly certain he’s one mistake from Merlin kicking him out entirely. But he can’t help it. He likes to challenge him because Merlin _always_ meets it head on.

There’s a buzzing feeling in his veins when Merlin looks at him for just a few seconds too long, the same feeling he got when Merlin took his hand and opened his eyes just a little more to the world of magic. He’s never felt this connected to anyone before, certainly not someone he met just a few weeks ago, and definitely not to someone whose goal seems to antagonize Arthur as much as Arthur antagonizes him. Though in the past few days, he’s spent more time with Merlin than anyone else. They’ve walked campus at night dealing with minor creatures of the Ether, spent hours in this workshop that smells like the outdoors bent over books seated at opposite ends of too large desk, the only sound filling the room their breathing and the rustling of the pages. 

There is a peace to these moments that shouldn’t be there, given the subject matter they are pursuing, but it is there all the same.

Arthur is starting to prefer his nights to his days, a world of shadows to that of the light.

Merlin braces himself as if already regretting his next statement. “How exactly is magic like the X-Men?”

“In that universe instead of magic it would be mutations. And every mutation is a little different but it’s still considered a mutation. So then you get a bunch of people with different abilities, just like magic.” He flashes his disarming grin that has charmed everyone but Merlin.

Merlin blinks at him several times. “You’re ridiculous.” Arthur’s blood thrums in his veins as if he just received high praise. “Though I suppose the X-Men analogy isn’t the worst one.”

Arthur nods. “So that makes you….”

“Ooooh,” Freya says, “I know! Merlin would be like Rogue, because the Emrys magic lets him use all the types of magic at once.”

Merlin scowls at her. “Yeah, except I’m not sucking the magic out of other people and nearly killing them in the process.”

Freya puts a hand over his chest. “Oh, my apologies Mr. Too-Cool-to-Know-About-X-Men. I was under the impression that you would have no idea who that was.” 

Arthur _loves_ that Freya has chosen to ally herself with him instead of Merlin. Loves it even more that it seems to drive Merlin up the wall.

Merlin scrubs his hands over his face again. “I feel as though we’ve lost track of this conversation.”

Arthur leans forward. Merlin isn’t forthright with information and when he gives an inch, Arthur has learned to do his best to push for a mile. “Why does the Emrys magic let you use all of it?” 

He doesn’t really understand. He sort of gets it. Freya can read people’s moods and Gaius can soothe people with his touch and Morgana has prophetic dreams which took a bit to wrap his head around but in hindsight makes perfect sense. And if you focus on your powers and nurture them and let them grow you can deal with the creatures of the Ether.

But he doesn’t understand _Merlin’s_ magic. Emrys magic.

Merlin sighs and looks away from the book. “When they first started the Project, a Sorcerer did a ritual to tie his magic to the school. A protection spell to keep the Ether at bay.”

Freya pipes up again. “He died.”

Arthur blanches. “ _God_.”

Merlin grimaces. “Yeah, it’s unclear whether or not that was the original plan. But because of that it wasn’t just his magic tied to the school it was his _life_ too. And life is the strongest force of magic in the world. It’s used in all the old creepy rituals.”

Arthur considers the words. “Why?”

Merlin gives him another exasperated look. “I don’t know, Arthur. Do I look like the person who wrote the rules of magic?” With his hair in disarray, red rimmed eyes, and ratty sweatshirt he definitely does _not_. He looks more like someone who needs to be told he forgot to eat dinner. Which Merlin does, frequently. And if not for Arthur constantly buying extra take-out he’s not sure Merlin and Freya would ever _eat_. But Arthur keeps this opinion to himself. “Why is it that gold is the best material for conducting magic but iron repels it, can even _destroy_ it? Why are certain potions more effective when brewed on a full moon? Why does an Apprentice have to prove themselves thrice before they can be Emrys?” Merlin shakes his head. “I didn’t write the rules, I’m just following them.”

“So, the Emrys magic is the magic of Camelot?”

Merlin takes on a thoughtful look. “Yeah….I guess that’s a good way to put it. It certainly _feels_ like it comes from somewhere else.”

“What was your specialty? You know, before?”

Freya peeks over the top of the computer, eyes bright with mischief. “Technically, using your criteria it would have been super strength.”

Arthur grins wide and Merlin glares venomously. “I hate you both. No more talking unless someone comes up with a brilliant idea.”

Arthur rolls his eyes but looks back at the picture. At the figure on the ground attracting the beasts.

“What if we used me?” Merlin glances up at him again with his brows furrowed. “Like last time. What if we use me as bait?” It seems like a fairly obvious tactic and he’s not sure why they haven’t talked about it before. Surely Merlin has considered it.

Merlin leans forward on his elbows and studies Arthur intently for several long moments. “Do you actually have a death wish? Do you get off on near death experiences or something?”

“It worked last time.” He feels obligated to point out.

Merlin shakes his head. “Last time we didn’t realize it was literally _hunting_ people, maybe even specifically hunting _you_. It’s not an option. Period.”

Arthur narrows his eyes and nods at the book in Merlin’s hands. “But you going into the Ether yourself is?”

Freya sucks in a gasp. “Merlin!”

Merlin glares. He hasn’t said it outloud but Arthur knows it’s what Merlin is thinking, the way he keeps talking about how it’s his fault, the way he keeps declaring Mordred his responsibility, the fact that he’s brought up his teacher making it out alive over a dozen times. If they don’t find Mordred by the time three weeks comes and goes, he’s going to go after him. And the book in front of him is pretty damning evidence. Arthur might not know anything about magic but the huge glowing golden archway oozing shadows is fairly obvious.

Merlin works his jaw. “If there aren’t any other options, I’ll do whatever it takes to get him back.”

“Merlin!” Freya exclaims again, leaping out of her chair. “There are other options!”

“Like what?” he doesn’t sound angry, just fed up, a man who finally found the end of a rope. “We’ve been looking through the Archives for _days_ , Gaius doesn’t have any ideas, Morgana is busy dealing with Morgause, and the only person who has actually gone in knows fuck all.” Merlin runs a hand through his hair. “I’ll be safer than those other people!”

“How?” Freya says. “How would we be any safer if no one has learned _anything_ in two hundred years!”

“I don’t know! But what else is there, Freya? I can’t --” he shakes his head and closes his eyes tightly. “I can’t leave him there,” he whispers.

Arthur can’t let Merlin do this, can’t let _anyone_ do this but definitely not Merlin.

But what’s the point of magic if there isn’t another option? There’s a feeling like anticipation singing under Arthur’s skin as he stares at the Sorcerer in the drawing and looks back at Merlin. “Why can’t we do this?” he asks.

Both of the Monster Hunters’ attention snaps to Arthur. Freya comes around to look over his shoulder. “What do you mean?”

“The picture.” He gestures to the page, certainty creeping into his tone. “The Sorcerer. They are doing something to the _Hellhounds_.”

Merlin’s staring at him with that too intense gaze, eyes more starkly blue given their bloodshot status. Arthur tries not to shift under it. “What makes you say that?” Merlin asks. The fact that Merlin is considering Arthur’s suggestion at all is making Arthur feel strangely buoyant.

“Um, well…” he trails off. But his father had certainly taught him to act decisively, trust his gut because more often than not he already knows the right answer. Doubt is just another example of cowardice. He doesn't want to think about his father right now. He clears his throat. “None of the other pictures have a Sorcerer and hardly any have multiple Monsters. The ones that do don’t show them in the same pose. You mentioned there are creepy rituals, right? And the caption, ‘Shadow Tamed’...wouldn’t that be you guys? Shadow people taming the beasts?”

Merlin blinks at him for a few long minutes. “Are you suggesting that someone is controlling the _Hellhound_ and sending it after people? Because that would take….”

“Emrys magic,” Freya finishes. “Or a human sacrifice.” She shudders. “Which I mean -- I guess I can comb through missing person reports and suspicious deaths….yikes.”

Arthur furrows his brow, that hadn’t been the direction he was taking. He was just trying to figure out a way to stop Merlin from making a needless self-sacrifice. “Maybe, but that doesn’t help us that much. First priority should be getting Mordred out of the Ether, right? Then we can worry about some rogue Sorcerer. And if you can’t go in….”

Merlin’s eyes widen. “Then maybe we can tame a _Hellhound_ and send it to find him.” He sits back in his chair with a thud. “Fuck, I should have thought of that. Why didn’t I think of that?”

“Rule Number Six,” Freya says, “Emrys is forbidden from performing Sacrificial Rituals. You were trained not to think of it.” She gives Arthur a smile. “Arthur has no such preconceived notions. Good catch.”

Arthur grins. “Guess a fresh perspective is already helping,” he says with a pointed look at Merlin. Merlin just glares. “But I really don’t think we should sacrifice someone...”

Freya shakes her head. “Fucking Christ no, the exchange of life was for power and the blood was to attract the _Hellhounds_. We can make up our own ritual, right Merlin?”

Merlin looks between the two of them before he deflates. “Probably. The Emrys magic should be powerful enough to open a portal, call on a _Hellhound_ , and pigs blood should keep it from going after us. At least long enough to tame it. I can probably come up with a procedure and some runes for the ritual.” Merlin sounds like he’d rather do anything else.

“Oh my god,” Freya claps her hands together, “we’re going to have a pet _Hellhound_!”

Merlin eyes fly skyward again and this time Arthur doesn't try to stop his grin.

\--

The Camelot History Museum is an ugly building, built to resemble a castle for reasons Morgana can’t quite fathom.

Morgana doesn’t want to be here.

It’s been a long time since she’s done anything in the name of Emrys. She feels out of practice, as if one wrong step is going to send everything crumbling to the ground. Though if she’s being honest, she felt that way during her time as Emrys.

The school can’t exist without the program. For whatever reason, the monsters of the world are particularly drawn to this shitty city, always have been. She’s seen monsters everywhere she’s ever gone but they don’t stick around the way they do in Camelot. They don’t keep coming back. Maybe it’s the Emrys magic, calling to them. Or maybe it’s something that defies explanation. Regardless, the only way anyone can survive in this piece of shit city is with someone defending the citizens. And sure a few vigilantes like the one she is meeting today have taken it upon themselves to try and stop the shadows but Emrys is the only thing that makes a huge difference.

And while she’s being honest, she may as well admit she wants to save the program as a huge “fuck you” to her father.

The thing about growing up with Uther Pendragon as a father, absent though he was, is that his worldview seeps its way into your subconscious whether you want it to or not. Arthur got the brunt of it, striving for an unattainable perfection and approval he won’t ever receive, but Morgana did not escape unscathed. No matter what she accomplishes, there is a feeling of inadequacy. Growing up, it started during summers spent with her father and brother and offhand comments about which of them got the better grades. When Uther realized he couldn’t pit them against each other in a flawed motivation tactic he switched to something far more sinister, pitting them against themselves.

She hasn’t quite unlearned that particular doctrine.

And she will never forgive her father for dismissing her dreams.

She shudders as she jogs down the sidewalk before the building. It’s been a long time since she’s had a dream. The prophetic kind. The _warning_ kind. Last night she was graced with one at long last. She could attribute it to being around the Emrys magic, waking a piece of her that must have gone dormant but it feels worse than that.

The dream wasn’t clear, they hardly ever are. She only saw pieces of a shining puzzle, twisting and morphing and trying to fit itself together. She herself was placing the pieces, putting shape after shape against the indentation, trying to piece it together.

She woke before she solved it and it took everything in her power not to go back to sleep to try again. She has a prior engagement and as much as she’d like to skip, she’s doing this to help Merlin. And she’s had plenty of experience dealing with nasty little _pixies_. It should be an easy morning.

Morgause Gorlois stands on the front steps, red leather jacket zipped right to the neck, and an unpleasant scowl on her face.

Well, it’s good to see some things never change.

“I was expecting Emrys.”

Morgana gives a tight smile. “He’s a little busy at the moment saving the world. I’m here to assess the situation and should his presence be required, he’ll pencil you in.”

Morgause glares. This is how all of their interactions went when Morgana was Emrys too. She doesn’t know where Morgause’s animosity stems from but Morgana doesn’t mind facing it instead of Merlin. She _thrives_ on confrontation.

She gives the other woman a saccharine smile. “Are we going to stand here until you develop frostbite or are you going to show me the problem?”

With an angry flare of her nostrils, Morgause turns on her heel and leads Morgana into the building. Morgause doesn’t say anything, just leads her through room after room of display cases and polished shining wood and a blinding marble floor, until she scans a card and they enter the security room.

“Didn’t realize it was so top secret,” Morgana says looking around at the dozens of monitors.

“You wanted me to show you, take a look. Bottom left screen.”

She leans forward and stares at the screen, watches the room until there is a jump in the feed, a flicker across the monitor. Without prompting, Morgause rewinds and Morgana leans forward. Staring intently at the bottom left of the screen but there isn’t anything obvious. Not like a _pixie_ which would appear all hunched over the size of a mouse. There is simply a glitch in the screen and then nothing.

She leans back and crosses her arms. “The item stolen was small?”

Morgause nods. “It was a necklace. Well, it was the pendant of a necklace, the chain was left behind.”

 _Pixies_ aren’t known for taking things apart before they pocket them. “Was it valuable?”

Morgause shakes her head. “The top curator certainly doesn't think so. If these robberies were for money they’d be taking the paintings and sculptures. There doesn’t seem to be any connection between the objects other than the fact that most of them are relatively small.”

Morgana’s not sure why Morgause is so certain the supernatural is responsible. It sounds like an ordinary thief which is not on the Emrys list of priorities. “What have you tried?”

Morgause glares. “Are you questioning my capabilities?”

Morgana gives a dramatic eye roll. It seems as though Morgause is as insecure as ever. She’d make a pretty good Sorcerer if not for that. “ _No_ , I’m trying to make sure I don’t waste my time and do the same shit twice.”

Though her eyes are narrowed, the bounty hunter seems slightly mollified. “I did basic wards. Runes, herbs, berry juice; the whole nine yards. I buried some bones in the flower beds out front and burned incense up and down the building. It hasn’t worked.”

The bones should have stopped the _pixies_ and the incense should have at least temporarily deterred anything else. 

She thinks about Merlin’s tech room. “What steps has the museum taken? I'm assuming they believe it to be a human threat.” She valiantly doesn’t add, and _so does she_. “Did they get better cyber security?”

Morgause nods and leans back more in the leather chair, the epitome of lazy arrogance, as if this whole conversation is beneath her. “The first thing they did was update their online security but the images keep doing this.” She gestures at the screen. “They put in new sensors, a new alarm system, hired additional security guards, and two of them are currently in the hospitals in a coma.” Morgause tilts her head to the side. “Does that sound like _humans_ to you? Emrys promised me wards by Friday.”

“Emrys lies.” Morgana runs over the information again. It doesn’t sound like humans but it also doesn’t sound like anything from the Ether. “All the robberies are at night?”

Morgause shakes her head. “That’s the strangest part, half the shit is here in the morning and gone when they do the final inventory sweep before locking the place up for the night. I’ve tried patrolling, they’ve increased cameras, security personnel, but that second security guard was attacked _right after_ the museum opened….whatever it is it must be invisible or cloaked or something I’ve never heard of. It’s why I called Emrys. You all have more knowledge than me,” she adds bitterly. 

Morgause’s jealousy is the vicious kind, that makes her surly and angry and determined to prove she is just as capable as the Emrys Project. Morgana was never sure if it was the power or the knowledge that created the envy. Though when you boil them down, aren’t those two things the same? Can’t have one without the other.

A thieving creature, striking day and night, against humans to get a small worthless token doesn’t sound like anything supernatural Morgana knows about. But she’s doing this for Merlin so she will at least be thorough about it. Though it will likely be a colossal waste of time. “Can I get a list of the items stolen?”

Morgause nods. “Sure.” She hand Morgana a stack of papers but tightens her grip on them before Morgana can take them. “But I want those wards.”

Morgana snatches the papers. “Those wards aren’t going to be any better than yours if we don’t know what is doing this.”

She ignores Morgause’s eye roll in favor of running over the list. A quick skim doesn’t tell her much: a necklace, a bullet casing, a quill tip. All the items are from different exhibits located throughout the building but perhaps a look at their display rooms will tell her more about what might have attracted the creature in the first place. Though if you ask Morgana, it doesn’t feel like they are looking for a creature at all.

She’s got a very boring day ahead of her and for the first time, possibly ever, she'd give anything to fight a beast of the Ether.

\--

This year is not exactly turning out how Merlin envisioned. It began with trying his hand at optimism, a practice he abandoned after his second Apprentice quit. He told himself it was going to be better. Freya had seemed like a promising Apprentice. And though the monsters are still giving him troubles, his program and Freya are making it manageable. One more year, he told himself. One more year in this shit city and he’d be done being Emrys and he could head home to Ealdor. 

It’s all he wants to go home, to be free, to not feel so completely _alone_.

Then Arthur looked up at him in the alley and this year went completely off track. It’s not Arthur’s fault. Probably. But it sure is nice to blame him.

Arthur is a Problem. Even if he had magic and was the greatest Sorcerer the world had ever seen, he would still _be_ a problem because he would still be _Arthur_. Who is funny and pushes Merlin like no one else has ever dared before and is more intuitive about magic than most people even after years working with it and has a smile that makes Merlin feel like there might be literal butterflies in his stomach which is _ridiculous_. 

Morgana is a Problem. The fact that she has returned to work in the Emrys Project is nearly _unfathomable_. Morgana hated being Emrys more than Merlin. Neither of them enjoy the feeling of being trapped and you don’t realize how suffocating the Emrys magic is until it is coursing through your veins. He doesn’t know why she’s back and can’t quite bring himself to trust her fully. Morgana only looks out for herself and Merlin isn’t about to let himself forget that, again.

Freya is a Problem because despite Merlin’s try at optimism, that has long since been replaced with a crippling worry for her safety and her training and he’d give anything for her not to have to do this but it’s the only way he can _stop_.

So really, asking Gaius to return to the work of an Apprentice, a position he himself has not held for probably a good forty years is hardly a problem at all.

Merlin does a quick knock on the office door and is greeted by Dr. Muirden grinning at him.

Merlin flashes an apologetic smile back. He hasn’t solved the magic problem in the software and has been avoiding opening his email to see his advisor’s disappointment. “I’m sorry, was I interrupting?”

Gaius is wearing his disapproving frown, the one that brings his eyebrows low and makes Merlin feel as though he is personally responsible for all the world’s problems. Dr. Muirden shakes his head. “I was on my way out. Do let me know your thoughts, Gaius.”

Merlin takes a tentative seat as the door shuts behind him. “Is everything alright...besides everything that isn’t?”

Gaius gives a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Everything is fine. Guardian interviews.”

“Oh, Muirden’s interested?” 

The Guardian position is always held by a former Emrys, usually by someone who didn’t accomplish all the changes they wanted to during their time as Emrys. He thought for sure Alator was gunning for the position seeing as he started the project of digitizing all the files and bringing the program into the 21st century. He’s called Merlin a _dozen_ times to ask him about the Scanner.

Gaius hums, “yes, though I’m not sure he’s quite suited for the position. He’s always been a bit skittish around the supernatural since the accident.” Merlin’s not sure if that’s an accurate assessment of his advisor. He’s the only former Emrys Merlin has come across who doesn’t have a trace of superstitious protections adorning his office. Not like the office Merlin is sat in now. Gaius gives him a smirk. “I was rather hoping you would be interested in taking over when you graduated.”

Merlin’s jaw drops. “ _Me_? I hate this place.” Gaius should know, Merlin’s mentioned it enough times.

“Maybe your opinions are clouded at the moment. Now what is it you wanted to see me about?”

Merlin rubs his hands on his knees. “I was wondering if you would be willing to watch the Scanner? You wouldn’t have to deal with anything, just send a message and Morgana can handle it.” Now that they know Gaius is capable of texting, Freya has taken it upon herself to create a group chat that at the moment primarily consists of memes she herself has sent that Merlin is almost certain Gaius has no context for understanding.

Gaius narrows his eyes. “And what will you be doing?”

Merlin explains. 

Gaius stares at him for several long moments. 

Merlin shifts uncomfortably under his gaze. When he can’t take the silence anymore he says, “you think it won’t work?”

Gaius takes off his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose. “No, I fear it will work entirely too well. Though, I imagine no one has likely attempted something like this in a hundred years.” Gaius sighs. “I’m sorry your time as Emrys is so marred with strife, Merlin. You really might be the best we’ve ever seen.”

Merlin thrums at the praise but feels obligated to grumble, “Arthur actually thought of it.”

Gaius smirks. “He’s good for you.” Merlin scoffs and Gaius lets out a chuckle. “Believe it or not, Merlin, it is often a good thing to allow yourself to meet new people.”

“Emrys is a solo gig.”

A sad smile. “It doesn’t have to be. But yes, alright I will sit in front of the computer while you summon the creatures of the damned _if_ you think about what I’ve said.”

Merlin nods. “Of course,” he lies.

Like _hell_ if Merlin is ever going to be the Guardian. The minute he passes over the Emrys magic he’s getting as far away from this place as he can manage.

But before he can do that, he has a _Hellhound_ to summon.

\--

A dense fog rolls around the ground of the cemetery, burying the gravestones in the mist of condensation. The stone pavilion sits in the heart of the graveyard, worn and weathered. The arches on either side granting entrance are pocketed with chips and cracks. The roof is just as cracked and the floor is moist from precipitation.

Freya shook her head when the three of them stood before it. Arthur hauling two buckets of pigs blood procured from the butcher, Freya holding the Bestiary to her chest, and Merlin with his eyes glowing gold as he surveyed the scene, two paper grocery bags in either hand. 

Freya tsked. _Things from the Ether love a cemetery. Must be all the sadness and death. Bit of an obvious choice if you ask me. Give me something exciting like a haunted ice cream parlor._

Merlin only rolled his eyes and motioned then into the pavilion.

Arthur thought he was going to have to put up quite the fight to get an invitation to this little excursion. He and Freya even ran through several arguments they felt best would persuade Merlin depending on the mood they might find him in. But when Merlin opened the door with Gaius behind him he just raised his eyebrows and asked, _are you coming?_

Arthur isn’t sure if his invitation is because Merlin is starting to trust him or because they are hoping his presence will make it more likely that the creature makes an appearance or because they think Arthur is in more danger by himself. He’s hoping it’s the first one.

The three of them each sit at the corner of a triangle Merlin traced in the old stone with a finger dipped in blood, a gold spark emanating from his touch and the shape is burned into the stone. _Magic_ , Merlin said, _likes to work in threes_. Arthur valiantly resisted the urge to compare it to _Beetlejuice_. The buckets sit open between them, the metallic scent of blood is acrid in the air. Around them are nearly two dozen candles.

Merlin opens his eyes flaring bright gold. “I call upon a _Hellhound_ to serve those of the Shadows.” His eyes go completely black.

The candles flicker ominously just once before they go out entirely. The only sounds that fill the air are the slow measured breathing of a professional, the quick nervous breaths of two someones not-quite-succeeding at hiding their fear, and the high piercing whistle of a being with one foot in the Ether manifesting right in the middle of their triangle.

Freya makes it just two minutes before she whispers, “is it working?”

The whistling grows louder, more insistent as the creature begins to fixate on the voice. Freya ducks her head in shame as Merlin turns a glare on her. Merlin had explained what he would be attempting and his only instructions for Freya and Arthur were to keep quiet, sit perfectly still, and do as he said. He glared at Arthur as he said that last part which Arthur found rather rude.

The high whistle changes as the creature solidifies before them, lowering the timbre until a grumble rattles the stones they sit upon. Through the mist, sharp white fangs glisten into focus, the smoke curls itself tighter until the unmistakable figure of a _Hellhound_ stands between them. Arthur sucks in a sharp breath before he can stop himself and the creature zeroes in on him. More teeth appear as it snarls.

Now would be a _great_ time for Merlin to do whatever it is he is planning.

The creature ducks down as if to pounce, a snarl shakes Arthur’s bones but he doesn’t so much as change his breathing. Merlin is a statue on his left and Merlin has proven time and again he’d rather light himself on fire than let anything bad happen to anyone else. 

Arthur trusts him.

Merlin holds up a hand and the creature turns to look at him. Merlin _growls_ , a low deep sound that makes Arthur’s pulse race even faster, and the _Hellhound’s_ snarl cuts off as the spell hits it. It sits on its haunches and cocks its head to the side, looking so much like a wolf that Arthur finally thinks the name might be fitting.

It thrashes against invisible bonds, snarling and angry, trying to free itself. It lets out a huff of smoky air and gives a high pitch whine when it is unable. Freya looks like she is trying very hard not to laugh.

Merlin moves to his knees before the beast as it assesses him with weary eyes, angry and red. Arthur doesn’t know what Merlin is looking for, but he seems to find it. He raises his hand, in a palm open gesture and places it before him. He never takes his eyes off the creature.

The air around them grows stagnant as they wait out the beast. According to Merlin’s research this would go one of two ways. The beast would trust him and press its snout against his hand, effectively declaring Merlin its master or it would break through Merlin’s spell and attempt to tear them all apart.

 _What are the odds of that?_ Arthur had asked, not liking the idea anymore. Merlin had pressed his lips tight and muttered, _50/50_.

The longer they wait the more fidgetly Arthur becomes. He can feel Merlin’s frustration mounting, can practically hear his voice in Arthur’s head telling him to _sit still you absolute moron_ but he can’t help it. Something should have happened by now and the longer it doesn’t the more Arthur’s skin starts to prickle, the feeling of uncomfortable unease you get when you _know_ something bad is about to happen.

The beast at last begins to lean forward. Merlin’s shoulders relax just a millimeter.

Mistake.

“Merlin!” Freya tries to warn but it’s too late.

The beast snarls, baring all teeth, and lunges toward Merlin. Merlin rolls to the side, faster than Arthur’s eyes can follow, hitting the stone wall of the pavillon so hard it gives a loud _crack_. Arthur and Freya scramble backward on hands and knees, the rough stone of the floor ripping his skin. The creature sails above the place Merlin sat, gray and dark, shadows rippling in the air around it, leaving a wave of heat in its wake that scalds Arthur’s face. It skids across the damp stone as it searches for purchase and falls head first into the stone. Another _crack_ and a shower of dust rains down on them.

Merlin roars something else, loud and fierce, staggering roughly to his feet. Gold is bursting from his fingertips and into the stone, lighting up the entire pavilion. The beast lets out a scream so loud Arthur’s ears start ringing.

Arthur’s palms are sweating. Adrenaline is emptying into his veins so fast he’s nearly dizzy. He’s feeling lit up inside from the magic in the air, in the ground, and buzzing over his skin. They need to do something fast or they might lose the creature forever. 

Merlin said _Hellhounds_ were fiercely loyal to their own kind and from what Emrys observations showed their pack dynamics weren’t about dominance. It seemed to be built on _trust_. A Sorcerer connection would need to be the same. And suddenly the answer to this problem seems glaringly obvious.

The certainty in his discovery makes Arthur brave.

Brave enough to be stupid.

The _Hellhound_ turns to Arthur and against all his instincts telling him to run or to freeze or to fight he keeps his gaze steady on the creature’s eyes and holds out a palm before him. He doesn’t back down because when you trust someone, you aren’t afraid, you hold your ground.

Merlin growls his name, a warning, which is very distracting but Arthur doesn’t let himself think about it. Not right now. Something is telling him this is _exactly_ what needs to be done. 

The beast approaches slowly and he can see Merlin and Freya standing on the peripheral watching with worry, fingertips sparking gold in a way Arthur’s never will. Merlin takes a step closer and Freya grabs his shoulder to stop him.

The beast gets close enough that Arthur can smell sulphur and fire and ash, it burns his throat and his eyes sting. It lets out another scream. Arthur’s heart jumps to his throat. He was wrong. It’s going to kill him.

The _Hellhound_ leaps, claws first, and Arthur is back in that alley on Halloween night, eyes shut tight and ready for death.

“ _Arthur_!”

Instead of pain and fire and agony, there is hot breath tickling the hairs on his arm, and the feeling of something rough against his hand.

The _Hellhound_ stands before him, snout firmly pressed against the skin of his palm, eyes closed. When it opens them again, they are the same gold as Merlin’s.

“ _Holy fucking shit_ ,” Freya whispers before tiptoeing beside Arthur and holding out her own hand. It presses its snout to her palm. It turns to Merlin last, Merlin whose mouth is wide open and looks shocked to his core and possibly a little offended. After shaking his head, he holds out his own hand. The beast repeats its sign of deference and goes so far as to lick his hand.

Freya lets out a hysterical laugh. “I think it likes you, Merlin.” Freya comes up and scratches at the space behind its ears. Arthur does the same, astonished at how silky smooth the shadows feel against his skin.

Merlin gives a high whistle and the creature sits at attention. 

It worked. Merlin’s plan worked and Arthur’s gamble paid off and now the creature is _theirs_ to command. They might actually be able to save Mordred. Arthur can’t stop the grin that splits his face and Freya can’t stop giggling. Even Merlin looks like he’s fighting a smile. 

Merlin pulls a piece of fabric from his pocket. He growls something at the creature and it _eats_ the fabric, nodding once, before vanishing in a huge gust of smoke leaving behind a charred line in the middle of the triangle and a pile of shadow dust.

The night is quiet again.

“Soooo,” Freya says, drawing out the word. “That was wild.”

Merlin is staring at him. “Why did you do that?” Arthur feels his smile fall. 

Arthur shrugs. He doesn’t know. It just...“It seemed like the right thing to do.” Merlin stands up straighter, clearly gearing up for a fight so Arthur cuts him off. “And it worked, didn’t it? You told it to go find Mordred?”

Merlin stares at him for a few moments longer before he sighs. “Yeah, it worked.”

“So now we wait?” Freya asks, already moving to start packing up. Arthur goes to help her, feeling uncomfortable with Merlin’s staring.

“Now,” Merlin says, and Arthur can still feel his eyes on him, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, “we need to figure out how to exorcise a demon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Updates on Wednesdays!
> 
> Next Chapter features: an amateur investigator, tragic backstories, and PINING.
> 
> Commends and kudos are amazing :D


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thank you to [eat_crow](/users/eat_crow) for letting me ramble nonsensically about this fic until I figured out my plot issues.

The stolen shit is proving a more complicated mystery than Morgana anticipated. She thought it would be a quick rune carving, banishing a few errant _pixies_ that found themselves far from their usual forest haunting grounds, and she would be on her way. Then she could join the Rescue Mordred Mission or perhaps bully her father into leaving them all alone. 

That isn’t what is happening.

Emrys wards aren’t inherently more powerful than wards cast by anyone else with magic, they just have a far wider range. It’s why the stuff Merlin puts up can last for years and surround the whole campus and why Morgana has to re-up the wards on her own house every few months. Which reminds her, she might be overdue. But all of this goes to say that Morgause’s wards _should_ have been doing the job just fine if they were dealing with something from the Ether. It didn’t make sense for Merlin to haul his ass all the way to the museum when she could do just as adequate a job.

And the wards are _working;_ she's checked each night and each morning, driving a good fifteen minutes out of her way to stop by the museum before she heads to campus. They remain strong and intact. Nothing from the Ether is pushing up against them, _weakening_ them.

It doesn’t make any sense. The most logical conclusion is that a _person_ is doing this but that doesn’t explain the security guards unconscious at Camelot Medical. Unless, of course, that person has magic.

Powerful magic.

Emrys magic.

She hasn’t talked to Merlin about the problem, just yet. He has too much on his plate trying to find Mordred, trying not to worry about the program ending while the Emrys magic still sits in his veins. So she’ll tell him when she has good news, or at least _concrete_ news. Good news seems like a fantasy these days. 

And she’d be lying if she said she hadn’t been avoiding the workshop, avoiding Gaius and his judgemental eyebrow, and Merlin who she desperately doesn’t want to disappoint (again), and her _brother_. Though neither she nor Arthur carry the name, they’ve got Pendragon genes all tangled up in their DNA. Genes that prevent you from possessing the emotional capacity for a heart-to-heart conversation and that is certainly the direction her and Arthur are heading in. She’s not ready for it.

But Freya has given her quite the out.

Morgana breezes into the library, tossing a smile to the waving girl at the front desk, and heads right to the back corner of the ground floor where a clandestine meeting has been scheduled.

Between whiteboards the musty scent of books and undergraduates in quiet whispered arguments as they navigate their way through the dynamics of group projects, she finds Gwen with her hands curled around a to-go cup staring out the floor to ceiling windows with a terse expression. The view is shit. It’s a standard November day and the lush green grass that composes the campus Quad is fading to brown. Morgana can’t help but note that she is still very pretty though far less fierce than she was the night they first met. Now she looks soft and small, bundled up in a huge scarf and her curls sticking out underneath her winter hat. Morgana raps her knuckles against the table in warning.

Gwen blinks in surprise and Morgana tries for an easy smile. 

“Gwen?” she asks as if she hasn’t already committed the name and the woman to memory. “I’m Morgana. Freya sent me. She’s a little tied up at the moment.”

Morgana figures that’s easier to explain than admit that the rest of their little supernatural hunting team is currently trying to come up with a conceivable way to exorcise a demon, or at least that’s what Freya’s message with the purple devil emoji implied. The campus library doesn’t really feel like the place for such confessions. Not with the giggling coming from the table next to them.

“Oh,” Gwen says, and Morgana tries not to read too much into the disappointment in her voice. Her warm brown eyes are quizzical when they look back up at Morgana. “But you’re here to help?”

She takes a seat and nods at the coffee cup with the Camelot University logo. “Didn’t want to meet at the Rising Sun?”

Gwen’s eyes go wide and Morgana wants to hit herself. Why would she bring up a place that likely holds nothing but terrifying memories for the other woman? But then Gwen surprises her with a startled laugh. “You’re right, I didn’t. Sort of regret it because the dining hall coffee is shit.”

Morgana gives a tentative smile. “Been avoiding it myself to be honest.” 

Gwen quirks a brow. “The workshop or the shitty coffee?”

Morgana grins before she can stop it. “Both.” Maybe she _should_ hit herself. She’s not supposed to be _flirting_ , she’s supposed to be working. And Gwen is clearly Arthur’s _Something_ so….definitely not appropriate. More evidence that Morgana is a truly awful sibling. Guilt sobers her immediately and she clears her throat. “What’s going on?” Freya hadn’t filled her in on the quick string of messages sent with a few abbreviations that Morgana had to Google. Freya is starting to make her feel very old.

Gwen chews on her lip and shakes her head. “It’s probably stupid.”

For some reason Morgana can’t stand the doubt Gwen has cast over herself. “Is that what your instincts are saying?”

She watches as Gwen’s brows furrow and her lips tilt up at one corner. “Instincts? I don’t have,” she looks around before she whispers, “ _magic_?”

Morgana shrugs. “Who's to say all our instincts aren’t just another form of magic.”

“Alright,” Gwen says, that same skeptical smile on her face. “Well, the other day my neighbors said they were missing some of their stuff, little knick knacks, earrings, things that they _knew_ shouldn’t be missing.” Morgana sits up straighter. What are the chances that the mysterious museum robberies and Gwen’s robberies are unrelated? Nice as that might be, Morgana is rarely that lucky. “And then _today_ in the breakroom, two of the graduate students were talking about the nameplates on one of the commemorative plaques being stolen. And then _again_ in the dining hall some underclassmen were talking about a bunch of jewelry on their floor going missing. I just found it…. _weird_.”

“It is weird,” Morgana says emphatically. “Do you know the exact items?” Supernatural entities operate on instincts, more similar to animals than anything else. They are predictable and if Morgana can find a pattern, she might be able to identify _what_ it is. She’s already established that it’s not _pixies_. And if there isn’t a pattern….she’ll cross that bridge when she inevitably reaches it.

“Oh,” Gwen blinks in surprise, like she didn’t expect Morgana to believe her. Morgana has an irrational urge to find whoever convinced Gwen her opinion isn’t _important_ and yell at them. “Well -- um -- my neighbors have lost some thimbles and earrings, and then the jewelry I’m not too sure about -- and I mentioned the gold nameplates?”

There’s a ringing sound in Morgana’s ear at the word. Images from her dream flash before her eyes: shining, glittering pieces twisting and shifting to fill the cracks in a puzzle.

“Gold,” Morgana says, slowly letting the word roll of her tongue. The list from the museum flashes through her mind with this new parameter in place. It’s obvious, _stupid_ obvious: the lipstick case, the quill tip, the pendant of a necklace but not the chain, the _teeth_. The unifier of all of these items is the _gold_. If she had taken Morgause more seriously would she have noticed it sooner? If Merlin had been on the case, would he have already solved it?

A quiet voice pulls her back to the present and she focuses on Gwen’s wide eyes. “Is that….something?”

Morgana lets out a breath. The window they sit beside is poorly insulated and she shivers against the breeze coming in. The chill warning of the harsh winter to come. “It’s certainly not nothing.” Gold is the only material capable of conducting magic, _powerful_ magic. The fact that something or _someone_ appears to be accumulating quite a bit of it feels like ominous news.

Morgana leans forward. “Do you think you could let me into your building? The one the name plates were taken from?” Gwen’s residential building probably doesn’t have security cameras but the campus building sure as hell will.

“What are you going to do?” Gwen doesn’t sound judgemental, just curious. Morgana decides to be honest.

“I’d like to take a look at the security footage.”

She wonders if Gwen is going to ask how or why or if she needs permission but Gwen just picks her bag up off the floor and says, “I think the security room is in the basement where the plaques are.” She flashes a little grin as she holds up a jangling lanyard weighed down by metal. “I might even have a key.”

“And if you don’t?” Morgana asks, wondering how she feels about breaking and entering and if this is the part where they go their separate ways.

Gwen’s expression shifts a little into a smirk. “I might not know how to slay vampires but I can pick a lock.”

Morgana grins wide. She might be in trouble for an entirely different reason.

\--

“So,” Merlin says, looking at Freya and Arthur, each at a desk sitting in the dim light of the workshop, with several books around them. “Demons.”

The truth about magic is that it’s all a lot of guesswork. The protocol they follow was tested by someone along the line and it happened to work so they kept doing it. Because of that, it’s an imprecise art. There are a lot of unknowns at the moment.

There’s a chance that the _Hellhound_ isn’t doing anything. It didn’t follow Merlin’s instructions to locate Mordred and bring him back and instead it is running around having the time of its life with the fabric from Mordred’s jacket burning in whatever makes up its digestive tract. They might never see it again, though that would certainly break Freya’s heart as she’s decided to name it the next time it returns. It’s not an ideal scenario.

If Merlin wants to try his hand at optimism again there’s _also_ a chance the beast will return with Mordred in tow. Merlin isn’t going to hold his breath but if the creature actually _does_ manage to find him, they need to come up with a plan to deal with whatever Mordred might be.

Even though magic is finicky and fickle it does have a few fundamental truths. Life gives way to magic. Words are the tools to wield it as long as you mean what you say. And magic loves to work in threes.

Merlin is hoping that the last rule in particular will help guide them on their journey seeing as it is three people trying to uncover the secret truths of the universe.

“Can I ask a stupid question?” Arthur asks. Merlin has learned Arthur only asks permission as a form of mock politeness, it is very likely he is going to do whatever the hell he wants and Merlin can do little to stop him.

He still can’t believe Arthur tamed the _Hellhound_. Can’t believe Arthur didn’t listen to a _single thing_ Merlin had said and took it upon himself to try and complete the ritual. Well, Merlin _can_ believe it but the only explanation for the blind white panic that nearly sank him to his knees when the beast approached Arthur is disbelief.

He still doesn’t understand what Arthur is after, why he’s here, how he was able to get the _Hellhound_ to bend to his will without a natural aptitude for magic, which Merlin has checked for, twice. Arthur has just as much magic as every other non-magical person Merlin has come across, that is to say almost none. Certainly not enough to manipulate the world around him. And yet the beast bent to his will. Not Merlin’s or Freya’s, it recognized Arthur’s authority _first_.

He might also be a little jealous.

Freya flashes Arthur a bright smile. “There is no such thing as stupid questions as long as the intent behind them is genuine.” Her smile goes a hair mischievous when she turns back to Merlin. “That’s what Merlin always tells me.”

Merlin had been worried Freya was going to worship Morgana. Evidently he’d been worried about the wrong sibling seeing as Morgana is never around. The only communication he gets with her is a brief text assuring him the Morgause Situation is “being handled.”

Merlin runs his hands through his hair, knowing at this point it must be nearly stood on end. “Just ask your question,” Merlin says, already bracing for something unrelated and absurd.

“Demons….” Arthur says, eyebrows raised in a clear suggestion that he’s suspending his disbelief, “like evil spirits?”

“It’s like everything else in the Ether. Whatever Emrys came across it first named it. Maybe it’s the same ‘demons’ people refer to when they talk about evil spirits or maybe Emrys took inspiration from pop culture at the time. Why the hell do you think we have creatures called _‘gremlins’_?”

Arthur nods as if digesting the answer. It’s a bit fascinating to watch Arthur as he puzzles over a new piece of information, fits into his own personal lexicon until it makes sense.

Merlin tears his gaze away from Arthur. He needs to stop watching. He’s already spent far too much time studying Arthur.

“But the real problem,” Freya says, catching Merlin’s eye. He’s worried she’s seen too much and consciously builds up his magic a little to block her in case she’s trying to read him. “Is that we don’t really know what demons _do_. It seems like they are just….agents of chaos.”

Merlin nods. “Yeah, that’s a fair assessment. The few times they’ve gotten into this world they just….wreck havoc. Burn things, bring over creatures from the Ether, attack people --”

“Specifically Sorcerers,” Freya corrects.

The one Emrys who came back possessed killed three separate people who all had magic. Merlin shrugs. “Let’s hope if Mordred _is_ a demon, we stop him before that happens.”

“So,” Arthur says, “running on that assumption, we need to get the demon _out_ if Mordred is still in his body.” Merlin nods. He has no evidence to prove that the original occupant of the body remains when possessed but if he’s not going to be optimistic about this, then what the hell is he going to be optimistic about? Arthur’s face does that thing where his eyes narrow and his mouth purses. It’s a look that says he’s unsure of himself and he has another question that might be considered stupid. Christ, Merlin needs to stop looking at him. “Would we get rid of them the same way they do in movies?”

“Well,” Merlin says, “I might have an idea.” Right now it’s closer to half an idea but usually if he starts talking things through he figures it out as he goes. “Things from the Ether don’t like Sorcerer magic. Maybe that’s why demons kill Sorcerers when they come out of the Ether and why they possess them when we go in. They are trying to destroy the magic that doesn’t agree with theirs. So if we had an incredibly magical object --”

Freya jumps in, “we could use it to destroy the demon but keep Mordred intact! But….oof, that’s going to be risky. If we use a charm we’d have to time it so we hold it against the demon long enough to kill it but not so long that it also kills _Mordred_.”

Merlin nods. “It’s the best we’ve got right now.” He doesn’t add that all of this also hangs on whether or not their Ether Beast does it’s job.

Freya narrows her eyes as if she hears it anyway. “You aren’t going in.”

“I know,” Merlin lies, making his eyes wide and innocent, keeping his magic steady so it blocks her. Freya is a fairly good lie detector with her aura reading. “Now we just need something made of solid gold. To enhance the spell. And I guess I also need to come up with a spell…”

“Why can’t you just use the wards?” Arthur asks.

Merlin blinks at him. “What?”

Arthur’s cheeks go a little pink and the expression is distracting enough that Merlin nearly misses his next comment. “Aren’t the wards all about keeping things out? Doesn’t that mean if something got through and you activated them it would push them away?”

Merlin blinks at him. “I hate how smart you are,” he grumbles before he can stop himself. And he _does_ hate it. He hates thinking about how many other problems over the years could have been solved if they just had someone who wasn’t indoctrinated into this world to give an outside perspective. Someone who didn't know the protocol so well that they actually thought outside the box. Merlin clears his throat and dismissively says, “I guess that’s worth a shot.” But he fears the damage might already be done.

Arthur flushes more and Freya grins wide. “Coming from Merlin, that's high praise.” Merlin rolls his eyes, valiantly making sure his own cheeks don’t heat at his slip up, but Freya keeps grinning. “I’ll head over to the pawn shop after classes tomorrow, before sunset. Grab something portable and made of pure gold. I don’t think our triskelions are big enough. Also, we’re almost out. I’ll tell Gaius to order more.”

Merlin nods. “Alright. Now we just….”

“Need to figure out who is doing this?” Freya asks.

Merlin hates the idea that a _person_ is behind this. That someone is using their magic for such an evil purpose to attack Sorcerers and students and manipulate creatures to their will for some undoubtedly nefarious purpose. It’s _unheard_ of. Not since the days when monsters were ruling the land and fear was the most popular currency.

Arthur is studying him with a too intense gaze, eyes too bright in this faded room. “You have an idea?” He says it like a question but Merlin knows he doesn’t mean it that way.

He doesn’t understand how Arthur knows him so well. Especially because Arthur doesn’t really know him at all. Merlin is just as careful with Arthur as he is everyone else. He doesn’t reveal anything personal about himself, doesn’t show his hand, and yet Arthur sees him better than anyone has in a very long time.

Merlin looks away at the shelf lined with the journals of all those who came before him. “No one has more knowledge of the Ether than people involved in this program.”

Freya scoffs. “Merlin, you aren’t seriously suggesting that a former Emrys is doing this.”

He gnaws on his lip as he looks back. “It’s a possibility.”

“Maybe,” Freya says like she doesn’t think it’s a possibility at all, “but they don’t have access to the Emrys magic anymore. Once an Apprentice Ascends the magic leaves them and goes to the next person. And I can access a little of it because I’m an Apprentice and it’s not _me_.” Merlin rolls his eyes. “And the only other person who can access some of it is Gaius and I _really_ don’t think it is him.”

“I don’t think it’s Gaius either but….no one knows this world like _we_ do. Bounty hunters might but the reason Morgause bothers me so much is because she is lacking knowledge. And I guess there could be some secret sect of Sorcerers we don’t know anything about but it seems far more likely that the culprit is someone who knows the program well, knows the nuances of magic well.”

Freya crosses her arms. “Then it could be Uther Pendragon.” Arthur visibly stiffens at Freya’s words but before Merlin can read too much into it, Freya is ticking a list off her fingers. “He hates the program, had access to all our files for several months, _and_ he’s trying to shut us down.”

“He doesn’t have magic,” Merlin points out.

Freya rolls her eyes. “As if he doesn’t have the money to hire a bounty hunter or several to get their hands dirty for him.”

Merlin shakes his head. “What would his motivation even be? I think he’s a right bastard but I _really_ don’t think he’d jeopardize his school's representation just to get rid of _me_.”

“I’m just saying he seems as likely a culprit as a former Emrys,” Freya argues. “What would _their_ motivation be? Why would they send a creature to attack a former Apprentice or a student without magic? It’s not as if that would give them the magic back.” Freya nods at Merlin. “If it’s the magic they want they would need to swear themselves to you and kill _you_.”

Arthur’s voice cuts through their argument. “Why does anyone give up the magic?” He’s wearing his thoughtful expression, the one with furrowed brows and his eyes just a little far away. The one that says he’s missing a piece of information. Merlin quirks an eyebrow so Arthur goes on. “People are greedy, right? Why does anyone give up the Emrys magic in the first place?”

Merlin swallows and looks away, at the Scanner which has been suspiciously quiet since the night they summoned the _Hellhound_ , something he’s sure he’s going to need to look into sooner rather than later. He can’t answer. Not with the magic so close in his veins, ever present, _lurking_.

“It drains you,” Freya says, in a soft voice. Merlin can feel her gaze on him, her magic on him, trying to see if he’s okay. It’s a waste of her efforts, Merlin hasn’t been okay for a long time. “It -- you -- the magic --” she struggles to find the words.

“Life powers magic,” Merlin says, voice dead even to his own ears. He still can’t look at Arthur. “But life is a finite resource. The magic has to change hands to stay strong.”

“It’s killing you?” Arthur’s voice isn’t appalled the way Merlin thought it would be, it’s _angry._ Merlin is looking again before he can stop himself. Arthur’s expression is just as furious as his tone.

Merlin flashes an insincere smile. “Only if I keep it too long.”

Arthur’s jaw is clenched and eyes are blazing and Merlin can’t keep his gaze. He doesn’t want to talk about this anymore. Not right now. Not when Merlin’s life isn’t in immediate danger. Probably. He just needs to be careful about doing powerful magic, same as always. One more year and he’ll give it away. It’s _fine_. 

He clears his throat. “We’ll start worrying about who is behind this when Mordred is safe. In the meantime, let’s see if we can figure out a feasible way to modify the spell for the wards.”

He can feel Arthur’s eyes on him, heavy and intense but he doesn’t look at him. He needs to _stop_ paying attention to Arthur. He can’t get close to him, not really, not the way Arthur’s demeanor and actions clearly suggest he would like to. Not the way _Merlin_ would like to if he was somebody else. Someone who didn’t investigate the disappearances of people with magic and summon the creatures of the damned. It’s a lesson he doesn’t need to learn again.

\--

The world had done its best to ensure that Merlin knew not to get close to anyone but the Trials of the Emrys Ascension hammered the lesson home. It was Emrys’ job, to be alone. It’s a warning Merlin is trying to give Freya, a warning he received from Morgana on a sticky summer night, cicadas screaming in the trees, just after a thunderstorm rolled through but did fuck all to break the heat of the day.

“She left me.”

Morgana’s voice broke through the still of the night. This was before. Before Merlin was Emrys. Before Merlin lost all his optimism. Before his life seemed like a cruel joke with a punchline more literal than figurative.

The two of them were up on the flat roof of the Rising Sun, lying back on lawn chairs stained orange from rust, skin sticking to the plastic as the heat refused to give, staring up at the stars. 

He didn’t look at her, just kept his breathing steady as he took in small lungfuls of that sticky air. It seemed like it would be breaking the rules, to see the vulnerability no doubt written across her features. He swallowed and asked, “your girlfriend?”

She had talked about her in passing a few times with too much intimacy in her tone to be just a roommate. It was the only person Morgana ever talked about.

Morgana made an affirmative sort of hum. “That’s what it’s like being Emrys, what it’s _really_ like.” This time Merlin did turn to look at her, skin on his arms painfully peeling away from the chair, but her eyes were still on the stars. “Everyone you love will leave you. Or you’ll have to leave them first.”

He almost asked “why?” but had enough sense to know it would be a stupid question. He knew why. Because anyone who got too close to you would be subjected to a life of horrors and dangers and terror and you couldn’t really do anything to guarantee their safety. You sure as hell couldn’t do anything to give them peace of mind.

For the first time, he sort of understood why his father took off one night without warning. Better to leave them with fond memories and anger than to return home one night to find them gone.

“What happened?” Merlin asked because if Morgana was changing the rules then Merlin was willing to push them as far as he could while he had the chance.

She let out a shaky breath. Morgana never showed emotion in the field no matter how frustrating the situation or heartbreaking the scene they stumbled upon was. She had built and fortified her walls long before Merlin arrived on the scene. That night sweating under the stars was the first time Merlin realized she was trying to teach him to build his own.

“She was tired and worried about me,” her voice was quiet but steady though Merlin could feel the tension in her words. “I’m always gone, running away at the drop of a hat, coming back late with feeble excuses and I never wanted to tell her the truth. She doesn’t deserve the burden of knowledge.” Merlin didn’t blame her. If he loved someone he sure as hell wouldn’t want them anywhere near this world. “I thought --” her voice cracked and she swallowed, eyes still on the sky above them but Merlin could tell she wasn’t really seeing anything. “I thought I could bide my time. This job has an expiration date. I thought I just had to get through it and then everything would be fine. I’d walk away and never once look back. I’d be _free_.”

“You didn’t tell her the truth?” Merlin asked, not sure what he was supposed to say.

Morgana let loose a hollow chuckle. “No _I did_. She thought I must be doing drugs and I was high out of my mind to talk about _monsters_.” Morgana never used Merlin’s word. His heart ached for her. She shook her head. “She didn’t believe me, didn’t believe it when I lit every candle with a snap of my fingers.” She swallowed. “And then….we fought. I was just….so _tired_ of lying and secrets and I exploded. And, Christ, I said a lot of things I didn’t even mean, stuff I really regret. And then she said she was leaving and -- God Merlin, I broke down.” Merlin didn’t know what to say, so he just kept listening. “She’s….it. Everything. She’s all I have, the only person who really sees _me_ , you know? Not the magic, not the power, just...me.” Merlin nodded though Morgana didn’t look at him. “I begged her to stay, told her I loved her. But do you want to know her parting words to me before she slammed the door and left me all on my own? She said I’m not looking for someone who loves me. I’m looking for someone to _fix me_ ,” she hissed the last words, biting and angry.

She looked back at Merlin with her eyes full of tears. “She’s sort of right. I’m certainly broken. But aren’t we all? Aren’t we all born whole and pristine and then life just chips away at us until we are a pile of broken pieces? And isn’t the whole point of growing up figuring out how to put those pieces back together?” Morgana’s eyes narrowed and grew hard, bright with unshed tears. “But she’s _wrong_ about just wanting someone to put my broken pieces back together. I don’t need that. I’m more than capable of putting myself back together each and every time I crack. I’ve done it one thousand times before and I’ll undoubtedly need to do it over and over again until I die.”

Merlin felt like he needed to say something or he might watch Morgana break again right in front of him. “Maybe….the point isn’t finding someone to fix you. Maybe the point is finding someone who will stick around while you fit your own pieces back together,” he said, adopting her own metaphor. “Someone who will watch and revel in every iteration you build and break and build anew and be excited by every version of you. Maybe that’s what love is.”

A few of Morgana’s tears spilled over as she looked at Merlin. “You deserve more than this shitty job, Merlin.”

“So do you, Morgana.”

She shook her head and laughed. “I don’t.” She flashed him a wet smile. “You can quit before you’re in too deep.”

Merlin gave her a sad smile. “I really can’t.” Without this job, he didn’t have a scholarship, and he couldn’t put the financial burden of school on his mother and he sure as hell didn’t get good enough grades in school to qualify for any full rides. This was it.

She worked her jaw. “I know. That’s the shittiest part.”

Merlin knows if Freya ever did a Reading for him, this conversation would take center stage. Along with a corpse stumbling across a playground. And a bloody scene behind his childhood home.

He often wonders if the same can be said for Morgana. If this conversation has stuck with her the way it has him or if she cast it aside like she did everything else from her time as Emrys.

\--

The Sorcerer has an ethereal sort of beauty, lit up from the ancient security monitor in the basement of the Science Center. Her skin is almost blue from the light, her hair nearly midnight black in the dark of this little room. The single light bulb is burnt out.

Gwen would feel a little weird for staring so much except there isn’t much else to _do_. After Gwen found the right key Morgana sat herself in front of the computer and has been furiously staring at the screen ever since. Gwen knows she could probably go. Elyan sent her a text that he has to work late and won’t be able to pick her up for a few hours which means she has plenty of time to set up her supplies for an experiment tomorrow. Or she could start analyzing her data because goodness knows the end of the semester is approaching at the speed of light and she’d rather not fail the only class on her schedule.

Instead, she chose to watch Morgana.

The silence is making her squirm, she’s not good at being alone with her thoughts.

She doesn’t know why she let Morgana in here. Gwen isn’t impulsive, not like Elyan. Gwen is methodical and practical and follows rules and gets good grades and looks after her father and brother because lord knows they often forget to look after themselves. But she’s irritated, with Elyan for clearly lying to her and she’s not sure what to do with that irritation. She doesn’t know how to get him to confide in her. So she’s taking a page from his book and leaning into impulsive urges.

Like breaking into the security room in the basement and letting someone she doesn’t know help themselves to the footage. But it’s been quiet for too long.

“I’m not dating Arthur,” Gwen says and instantly feels her cheeks heat. Her father always joked that she tends to get herself into uncomfortable situations that could largely be avoided if she learned how to be comfortable with silence.

Morgana jumps at her voice as if she forgot Gwen was there which Gwen tries not to take as an insult. She blinks at Gwen a few times before saying, “what?”

“Um -- I was just making conversation?” Her cheeks grow hotter. “And when I talked to Freya she thought Arthur and I were dating, so I just wanted to make sure you didn’t.”

There is a very tense moment when nothing happens and then Morgana’s grin spreads honey-slow across her face and she arches one eyebrow, still lit up by the blue of the screen. “Me, specifically?”

“Um.” Gwen really wishes she didn’t still have her coat, hat, and scarf on because she feels like she is _sweating_ in all these layers. “What are you looking at,” she gestures at the monitor.

Morgana gives her a final smirk before turning back to the screen. “Something weird. There’s a case I’m working on and it involves a series of robberies that seem nearly inconsequential except for the fact that this happens,” she lazily flicks her hand toward the screen.

Gwen leans forward and watches as some sort of break in the feed occurs. “Have you asked Merlin?” Morgana quirks an eyebrow and Gwen goes hot again. “I -- um -- may have run a search of everyone’s names after our first encounter. And he’s in Computer Science so he would have a better idea.” Both of Morgana’s eyebrows go up. Gwen’s eyes go wide. “Not that I’m suggesting _you_ don’t know what you are talking about I just….” she trails off. Perhaps she should attempt a vow of silence for several weeks.

Morgana spares her further embarrassment. “Merlin has his own problems to deal with. I’m trying to take some responsibilities off his plate. If I have to bother him to figure it out, then I’m not really alleviating any of his burdens.”

“But there’s nothing wrong with asking for help.”

Morgana opens her mouth to say something when someone on the screen catches her attention, heading down the hall and standing before the plaque.

“Is this live?” Gwen whispers.

Morgana leaping to her feet and throwing open the door is answer enough. Gwen follows close at her heels. The hallway is as dark as the security room, exposed ductwork on the ceiling above them, fluorescent lights precariously perched between vents and pipes. At the end of the hallway stands someone who can’t be much taller than Gwen. They have a hoodie pulled tight around their head as they stand before one of the plaques with a screwdriver, carefully removing names.

“Not sure a pawn shop would take those seeing as they have random names on them,” Morgana says. Gwen resists the urge to roll her eyes. Surely there is a better way to handle the situation than that?

The person whips around to look at Morgana but the hood is covering their face, hiding it in shadow. Then all the lights go out.

“Son of a --” Morgana says.

A wave of force slams into Gwen. She hits the wall behind her with a thud, her elbow cracking painfully against the white washed stone. A sharp shooting pain erupts down her arm and she bites back a cry. The weighty flesh of a body hits her shoulder. 

“ _Ow_ ,” Morgana snarls, “Fucking _rude_.”

There’s footsteps running down the opposite end of the hall. Morgana jumps to her feet.

“Wait,” Gwen says, grabbing her arm. “There’s another stairwell.”

She pulls Morgana a few steps down and they run up the emergency stairs, emptying into the parking lot.

At the edge of the building is the person in the gray hoodie sprinting with everything they have, blurring just a little according to Gwen’s vision until they vanish between buildings.

Morgana blows out a breath. “Fuck. It’s definitely a Sorcerer.”

“Why are they after gold?” Gwen asks.

Morgana looks over at her. They’ve been inside for hours and the sun is setting. Morgana squints against the sun streaks hitting them. “Gold conducts magic.”

“And they are stealing a lot of it?” Gwen asks. Morgana gives an affirmative hum. “For what?”

She shakes her head. “No fucking clue.” She tilts her head back to look at the setting sun before returning her gaze to Gwen. “You want a ride home? Since it’s almost night?”

“Um. Okay.”

They head toward the back parking lot, the one situated by the river in a comfortable silence. Gwen is determined not to be the one to break it this time.

“Don’t tell Arthur,” Morgana says and Gwen looks over at her in surprise. “He’s trying too hard to get into Merlin’s good graces. I don’t want Merlin to worry, just yet, and Arthur will sell us out in a second.”

“Us?” Gwen asks.

Morgana blinks and her eyes go wide, making her look much younger and less intimidating. “I don’t know why I said that. I didn’t mean to assume -- especially after that. You just talked about help and I --”

Gwen places a hand on her arm and watches in amusement as Morgana’s jaw clicks shut. It is _much_ nicer to not be the one tripping over her words. “I can help,” Gwen says, not sure why she’s offering other than the fact that it seems like the right thing to do. And maybe she’ll get some answers about her brother. “I don’t necessarily want to fight evil Sorcerers but if you need help with research that’s sort of all I’ve done for the past few years.”

Morgana nods. “Then I’ll let you know.”

Gwen smiles. If this is what being impulsive feels like then she’s been missing out.

\--

There’s a guilty sort of feeling as Arthur stares at his email. He’s alone in the apartment as he sits on the couch.

The email is from Dr. Caerleon. _Haven’t seen you around your office, is everything alright? Have you decided what you are going to do next semester?_

He hasn’t. For so long he’s had his sights set on the next goal. High School graduation, Valedictorian or his father would have probably disowned him, then a bachelor’s with a double major to cover his bases in case he didn’t get into Law School, but then he _did_ get into Law School and went a whole year before realizing he’s spent the past fifteen years of his life living for his father instead of himself and he was staring at a bleak and unhappy future in a career he didn't actually want.

And then he panicked. The suffocating kind that wrapped a fist around his heart and lungs and _squeezed_. He dropped out, got out of his lease, and turned up on Morgana’s doorstep all in the course of a week. He didn’t know where else to go and certainly didn’t know if she’d be willing to help. But Morgana took him in, listened to his rambling, found the ad that said Elyan needed a roommate and asked him if Uther wasn’t pulling the strings of his fate what would he have studied.

And now he’s sitting here _so close_ to that goal, the very first goal he ever chose solely for himself and he doesn’t know if he even wants it anymore.

Hence the _guilt_.

He’s also guilty because _his_ father is the reason Merlin’s program is in so much trouble. And he _knows_ he needs to tell him because he can only imagine how this is going to blow up in his face when Merlin learns the truth but he _can’t_. Merlin is starting to trust him and it feels so fragile and delicate Arthur knows if he puts even one crack in it, it’s going to shatter beyond repair. He doesn’t know what he’d do then, if he lost Merlin.

He’s in too deep. It’s too fast, too soon but fuck if all his thoughts aren’t about Merlin Emerson. He’s fairly certain he would still be interested in the world if anyone else was Emrys but he can’t deny there’s something about Merlin. And it goes well beyond that first encounter, though he was certainly interested even then. 

Merlin holds a dangerous beauty. It’s enchanting when Merlin whispers a spell, so Arthur always makes sure he’s looking so he can see the way his irises go gold and blinding. He could write poems about his hands, the way they dance in the air when he casts spells, the deft way his fingers move across his keyboard in the workshop, how they look when he runs them through his hair, messy and unkempt and as slightly disheveled as the soul of the man himself.

But he’s so much _more_ than just that. He’s stubborn and headstrong and fiercely loyal. Arthur has enough self awareness to recognize he is more than a little infatuated with Merlin and sometimes when Merlin looks at him a certain way, he thinks Merlin may feel the same way.

Knowing Merlin’s penchant for needless self-sacrifice, it is very unlikely he will ever act on any feelings he may or may not have. Arthur can be patient, when he wants to be. He just hopes Merlin will come around. But before that happens, he is going to need to tell him that his slightly estranged father is the one responsible for attempting to ruin his life.

And now that he knows Merlin’s magic is _killing_ him he feels a blind panic when he thinks about him, a worry that shakes his bones and makes him want to do something stupid and --

The front door opening pulls him out of his musing.

“Oh,” Gwen says, blinking at him in surprise. “You haven’t been around in awhile.” She winces and Arthur smiles. He’s missed Gwen.

“I’ve been with Merlin,” he says. Gwen’s smile turns slightly mischievous and Arthur quickly says, “helping with the Emrys project and...stuff.” Just because he is pining over Merlin that doesn’t mean he wants to advertise it to everyone else.

Gwen’s smile is too much like a smirk for his taste but she just says, “I see.”

“Where’s Elyan?” He asks, changing the subject. He’s not sure at what point in tentative-friendship you start discussing your love life with one another but he’s certainly not in the mood to have that conversation right now.

“Oh,” Gwen says again and ducks her head as she takes off her scarf. “I got a ride from Morgana.”

It’s Arthur’s turn to be surprised, “ _Morgana_?”

He and Morgana’s loose acquaintanceship before looks as if they were best friends compared to how little they see each other now. He doesn’t exactly know why she’s avoiding him but he does know when Morgana wants to disappear, she’s an expert at it.

Gwen clears her throat and nods. “I noticed some weird things going on around campus and called Freya and I guess it relates to whatever Morgana is looking into so,” she shrugs. She sits beside him on the couch with a bounce. “Are you two close?”

Arthur shakes his head. “We grew up living with different parents but she spent summers with me and my father. We got closer in the past few years but the whole magic thing has put us at odds again.” He twists the ring on his finger. “Though to be fair, I haven’t done a lot to reach out to her.”

“I think she just needs some space,” Gwen says.

Arthur sighs. “The issue with Morgana is if she starts putting space between her and other people, she doesn’t know how to stop.”

It’s quiet for a few minutes before Gwen asks, “Is Elyan not here?” Arthur shakes his head and Gwen bites her lip. She looks at Arthur with wide eyes. “Can I say something a little crazy?”

“Um, crazier than a beast from hell chasing us across campus and realizing magic is real?”

Gwen lets loose a nervous chuckle. “Right.” She takes a deep breath. “I think Elyan is somehow involved.”

Arthur feels like he missed something. “Involved with what?”

“Magic.”

Arthur doesn’t know Elyan very well but from what he’s seen he spends most of his time playing computer games, he refuses to kill any bugs in the apartment, and tells the absolute worst puns Arthur has ever heard. “Why….” Arthur starts but isn’t sure what he’s really asking.

Gwen holds out a hand. “I know. Believe me. I _know_ , he’s my brother. He’s a weirdo who thinks he’s the funniest person alive and spends most of his free time in virtual reality. But the more I think about things….the more it seems _suspicious_.” Before Arthur can ask, Gwen points at their window. “Like that. Why does Elyan have a punch of plants in all the windows? He can barely take care of himself and yet he _meticulously_ waters those plants.”

“Maybe he likes horticulture.”

Gwen glares at him. “I saw those plants hanging on the walls of that workshop. I looked them up the other day and I _know_ they are the same. And his job! His hours are weird for someone who is an accountant. Why would there be some sort of financial emergency that lasts until 3 am several times a month?”

She’s got a point. “You think he’s doing something after work?”

She shakes her head. “I don’t know. And when you guys came and picked me up, he looked at Merlin like he _knew_ him. He even asked you about him, do you remember?” Arthur does, vaguely. He had been too busy pouting about the fact that Merlin didn’t want him around to pay too much attention. “And then Merlin asked _me_ if I’m related to Elyan Smith. I Googled his name and as far as I can tell he’s the only Elyan Smith in Camelot. And,” she keeps going, talking over Arthur’s protest, “when I asked him if he knew anyone named Merlin he said ‘no.’”

Arthur studies her for a few moments. “What do you think he’s doing?”

“I don’t know. I’m just...worried. He --” she stops and shakes her head. “He’s a bit _impulsive_.”

Arthur swallows. “Do you want me to ask Merlin?”

Gwen gives him a wide smile that has him rolling his eyes. This was clearly her plan all along. “That would be great.”

“Will you do me a favor?” Arthur asks. Gwen nods. “If you see Morgana again, will you look out for her?”

Gwen gives a little laugh. “I think she can handle herself, she’s got magic and she might be the most intimidating person I’ve ever met.”

Arthur shakes his head. “That’s not what I meant.”

Gwen sobers and nods. “I can look out for her.” Gwen knocks their shoulders together. “Siblings.”

Arthur nods. “Siblings.”

Gwen flashes him another grin. “So when are you going to ask Merlin out?”

Arthur puts his head in his hands and groans as Gwen lets out a chiming laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Updates on Wednesdays!
> 
> Next Chapter features: emotionally charged midnight conversations and monster slaying as a form of flirting
> 
> Commends and kudos are the best :)


	9. Chapter 9

“Merlin,” Dr. Muirden greets with a warm grin. “Sorry about a lunchtime meeting but I’m afraid the end of the semester is a bit of a busy time. As I’m sure you remember,” he adds with a wink.

Merlin _does_ remember. He remembers frantic nights cramming and studying so he could pass his classes, all while learning spells and _dealing_ with monsters and memorizing the history of a secret magic organization woven into the very foundation of the university of Camelot. He remembers late nights in the workshop furiously typing away on an essay that he didn’t give a single fuck about writing while Morgana watched him with sorrow written in her every feature. He remembers putting off assignments to write a software that has saved his skin more times than he can count. How could he forget when he is standing before the very man who helped him through it?

Merlin plasters a cheery smile to his face, not sure it’s coming across as friendly as he would like it to. “No problem.”

They are in the dining hall in the Student Union. Not the undergraduate one that is frequently overflowing and full of greasy smells and quick meals and food somehow overcooked and undercooked in equal measures. They are upstairs in the one reserved for faculty and graduate students where the menu is just as bleak but at least it is quieter. Another professor in the Computer Science Department passes and Merlin gives them what is likely a far more genuine smile.

Dr. Muirden gestures to the empty space at the table before him. “I’d be happy to wait while you get some food.”

Merlin swallows and says, “not hungry.”

Merlin _really_ wants to be wrong. A sensation he feels far more frequently than most. Most people love being right, love rubbing their intuition in the faces of others in a show of superiority. For Merlin being right usually means someone very close to him has betrayed him thoroughly.

The person who is behind Mordred’s attack would need powerful magic, intimate knowledge of the creatures of the Ether, their history, the history of the rituals Sorcerers before them have tried. Not to mention the annoying matter of the first attack with Arthur, when the _Hellhound_ didn’t appear on the Scanner and the only reason Merlin even made it in time was because Elena tipped him off. It seems like whoever is behind this _must_ know how to cloak things from the Scanner. 

Maybe even someone with access to the software. 

Or one of the people who wrote it.

He wants to ask, _did you do this_? just blurt it out and gauge his aura. Merlin isn’t great at aura reading, not like Freya is, but the Emrys magic lets him. The problem is that Muirden is an incredibly advanced Sorcerer and always has his magic blocking everyone out. Shockingly enough it’s the least suspicious thing about him. Gaius and Morgana and even Morgause do the same thing. Once you know how easy it is for someone to well and truly invade your privacy you do your best to make sure it never happens again. But Muirden’s something of a pro, Merlin never gets anything off him intentional or not.

“How are the new parameters coming along?” Dr. Muirden asks.

Merlin sighs and shakes his head. “Not great.”

He’s not _good_ at people. He used to be, before he came to this school. He was good at making his expression innocent and getting away with things and pinning the blame on Will who would fume and stomp his foot and insist Merlin was cheating with his magic. But it wasn’t cheating. Merlin was just good at being friendly.

He hasn’t had to do that in a long time. And he doesn’t know how to figure out if Muirden is behind this without showing his whole hand. He should have sent Morgana, not that he would have had a chance to ask her.

Dr. Muirden gives him a soft smile. “You’re doing a really great job, Merlin.”

Merlin snorts and almost rolls his eyes. Many things can be said about his performance this semester and “great” is nowhere on the list. “I haven’t made any real progress in months.”

The older man shakes his head. “I wasn’t referring to your research, though you certainly have a knack for programming.” His eyes take on a faraway look, the sort of look that lets Merlin know he’s thinking of his own time as Emrys. “It isn’t easy, this job you have. The power you are forced to wield. Not many would bear it with the grace you do.”

Merlin’s throat unexpectedly constricts and he’s blinking against a sudden sting in his eyes. Fuck, he doesn’t want it to be Muirden. He’s almost as close to him as he is Gaius.

“Thank you,” Merlin says, clearing his throat. “But I actually wanted to meet about something else.” Muirden nods and gestures for him to go on. Merlin swallows. “With Mordred’s disappearance we are wondering if the creatures are starting to stalk Sorcerers, particularly powerful ones. I’ve been tracking the habits of creatures for the past few months, where they make portals and come through the Ether,” this is only a half-lie. Merlin _has_ been tracking the creatures but he’s _always_ doing that, it isn’t anything new. “We’re going to see if the location of their appearances has anything to do with the presence of a Sorcerer. Would you mind filling out a log of where you’ve been just for the past two months?” Or more accurately an unofficial alibi sheet that he can cross reference and compare to all the crazy shit that has transpired.

Merlin keeps his magic up, blocking and strong, in case Muirden tries to read him. But he can’t stop the sweat that starts dripping down his back.

If Muirden is suspicious, he doesn’t show it. His eyes are warm and concerned as he says, “of course. Whatever you need. I can get it to you in the next couple days.” He gives a sheepish grin that makes Merlin feel like a terrible person, “you might need to promise you won’t make fun of me for only spending time in the Endicott building and my house. I don’t lead a terribly exciting life.”

Merlin gives another big grin that feels horrible on his face. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

\--

The wind is whistling today, the sky a wet gray, and temperatures low enough to promise snow should the clouds decide to open up. 

A storm is on the horizon.

Morgana keeps her head low as she makes her way through the neighborhood nestled between downtown and campus. It’s old, the houses ramshackle, many of them in various states of dilapidation from young student tenants who didn’t care enough to keep them in shape and landlords who don’t want to shell out the money to make them beautiful again.

There’s a brick building tinged brown from pollution right at the end of the street, just shy of the entrance to the highway. Morgana ducks her head inside. It smells as old and musty as it did during her last visit, though the brown spots of water damage spotted the ceiling are probably larger. She’s only been here once. The person she’s meeting usually makes house calls.

She takes the stairs to the fourth floor and heads down the hall stopping at the wooden door with the frosted glass window, the neat tidy script declaring: Tristan and Isolde’s Private Investigation.

She wonders if Isolde will ever change the name. Tristan hasn’t been around for a long time.

Morgana raps her knuckles in a cursory knock.

Her conversation with Gwen and the confirmation that the person behind this is most certainly a Sorcerer is shedding a new light on the situation. This is so much _bigger_ than a local museum downtown hemorrhaging funding. _Someone_ is systemically robbing the entirety of the city of their gold.

They’ve been subtle and sneaky. Morgana has spent the last two days pouring over the Police Blotter in the newspaper and Campus Safety reports at the university and even those stupid neighborhood chat boards. Small golden tokens have been going missing for _months_. Whoever is behind this is smart. The things they are stealing are small, not noticeable right away so by the time the victim realizes they’ve been robbed, the thief is long gone with no chance of apprehension.

The fact that there has been a sudden uptick in crime and they are going after more noticeable objects must mean bad news. It means whatever they are planning is close to fruition, close enough that they don’t _need_ to be careful anymore. Morgana needs to figure out who the hell this person is as that will be far easier than taking a guess at what they are planning.

The door to the office swings open and she scowls at the grinning man before her. Isolde really needs to update her team of bounty hunters.

“Morgana!” The grin is almost snarling. “I didn’t think I’d ever be graced with your presence again. What was it you said to me?” He brings a finger to tap against his chin as if in thought. “ _Oh_ , that’s right. That you’d rather _die_ than set your eyes on me again.”

She hums. “And I meant it. So imagine the horrors that have brought me to your doorstep,” she says through gritted teeth.

A voice from within the office scoffs. “Gwaine, let her in. You’re supposed to be heading to the Nemeth office downtown anyway. Seems the ghouls are back.”

Morgana flashes an insincere smile and Gwaine rolls his eyes but steps aside. The office is dark and small, as damp and gross as the rest of the building. Bounty hunting must not pay the bills the way it used to. Or Isolde has one too many team members. There’s a handful of desks, all of them empty as evidently the entire group must be out on the job at the moment, and a cork board at the front of the room covered in polaroids and red string, straight out of something from the _X-Files_. It’s not the way Morgana would keep track of information but to each their own.

There’s two doors to the side. One is a shitty bathroom with a cracked mirror that Morgana spent several hours in a few years ago scrubbing shadow dust and her own blood from her skin, waiting for magic to stitch her back together. The other door is wide open and the woman behind the desk has her fingers steepled, blond hair pulled into a ponytail so tight Morgana herself is practically getting a headache just looking at it. Her expression is a terse frown.

Not the most welcoming of greetings but the fact that she agreed to see Morgana at all is nothing short of a miracle.

Morgana needs this meeting to turn in her favor so she's prepared to go on the offensive. “Still associating with a rather motley crew, I see,” Morgana greets, taking one of the worn and tattered chairs across from the desk.

Isolde shrugs. “There aren’t too many volunteers who want to work with me. I take who I can get.” The door to the main office closes and they are alone. She gives a small grin. “And Gwaine isn’t so bad,” she whispers as if they are friends gossiping. The change in demeanor is a bit jarring. “He’s all bark, no bite.”

Morgana glares, not taking the friendship bait. “He _shot_ me.” He’s the reason she was scrubbing her blood in their bathroom.

“You jumped in his line of fire,” Isolde says, “there’s a difference.” In Morgana’s opinion, there _really_ isn’t. “And he felt really bad about it.” Morgana narrows her eyes. It sure doesn’t seem like Gwaine feels anything but contempt for her and the feeling is mutual. Isolde starts talking before she can voice any of these opinions. “So what brings you here? I know how you feel about _my kind_ ,” she says, disdain dripping from the last two words.

As far as bounty hunters go, she doesn’t mind Isolde even if her little team leaves something to be desired, not the way she does Morgause. Even though Isolde doesn’t have a trace of magic in her veins, nor does a single member of her team, she’s _good_ at her job. The other woman is thorough and knows when something is too big an issue for their little operation, handing over the case without a trace of jealousy or malice. And Isolde genuinely wants to keep this city safe, wants to stop any non-magical people from meeting the same fate as her late husband. Morgana’s not sure Morgause has any motivation other than money.

“I’m working on a case,” she says.

Isolde raises her eyebrows a hair. “Without Merlin?”

“For Merlin.” She hums and motions for Morgana to go on. “I was hoping I could ask you some questions to see if you’ve noticed anything...odd. Recently.”

Isolde rests her hands flat on the desk, standing her ground. “Could you be more specific?”

“I’d rather not.” Even though she likes Isolde far more than she likes Morgause, that doesn’t mean she trusts her. She is still a bounty hunter and if she gets wind of a case as big as the one Morgana is looking into, Morgana isn’t sure she won’t be tempted to get in her way. Again. Like that time one of her team members _shot_ her.

Isolde studies her for a long moment before nodding her acceptance. She clears her throat. “There’s been more creatures the past few years, but I imagine you already knew that,” her tone is teasing. Morgana never knows how to respond to people who are friendly so she waits for the other woman to continue. “They haven’t necessarily grown more aggressive but it seems they are harder to dispel, or rather it’s _easier_ for them to come back. Like those ghouls Gwaine is heading after. You wouldn’t want to tell me why that might be?”

Morgana shrugs, “no idea.”

Isolde’s face darkens, all traces of friendliness gone. “You come in here and expect me to lay bare every case we’ve seen this year but you won’t give me a scrap of information?” She scoffs. “That’s some glass house you’ve built around yourself.”

The statement makes the anger in Morgana’s gut surge sharp for one moment before she can quiet it. She's not going to get anything she wants if she starts a fight. “I don’t _have_ any information to give. Merlin has noticed the same thing but we don’t know _why_. We’re just dealing with the consequences, same as you.”

Isolde stares at her for a few uncomfortably long moments. “Is this about the museum job and all the robberies around the city?”

Morgana doesn’t change her expression though she can’t deny that she is surprised. “You know about that?”

The bounty hunter's next smile is a little smug. “Morgause might be the most _vocal_ bounty hunter but my team is the most respected. The curator of the museum came to me first and we’ve had a few dozen individual clients desperate to find their missing treasures.”

“Why didn’t you take the job?”

Isolde hits her with a disdainful look. “I don’t hunt _people_.” 

So she’s come to the same conclusion as Morgana then.

“You think someone was robbing them? You don’t think it was something from the Ether?”

Isolde shakes her head. “It’s the only explanation, isn’t it? I’ve been hunting the supernatural since I was a little girl. There is no creature that would target a place like that, surrounded by non-magical people _and_ concrete buildings. I told them to up their security.” Isolde studies her again. “Have you talked to Morgause?”

And that’s the problem isn’t it. Bounty hunters all fight each other for jobs, trip over themselves when a new one comes up to make sure they are the highest, or rather the _lowest_ bidder. Which means if Isolde knows about the robberies around the city then Morgause sure as hell does too. So why wouldn’t she tell Morgana about them, about the clear connection between them? What is she hiding?

“I don’t trust Morgause,” Morgana says carefully.

Isolde laughs. “You don’t trust anyone.” Before Morgana can argue Isolde holds up a hand. “I don’t either. It’s a good strategy for staying alive.”

Morgana sighs. The meeting was not quite as productive as she hoped it would be, though it certainly confirmed her suspicions about Morgause and her motivations. “Could I take a look at those cases you rejected? The ones about the missing items?”

“Sure,” Isolde says, “anything cases in particular?”

“Anyone who has lost something made of gold.”

\--

Freya looks up from the yellowed pages of her used paperback book to the blinking cursor on her screen, willing her essay to write itself.

The workshop is cold because the heater is ancient and hooked up to the same system as the coffee shop. The coffee shop gets the added bonus of warm bodies keeping the temperature high, the workshop just has her and Arthur. Arthur has been spending even more time in the workshop than usual and she’s willing to bet it has something to do with the fact _Merlin_ hasn’t been around. If the two of them keep dancing around each other the way they have been, they are both going to drive her insane.

She looks up at the other boy as he works through a stack of papers before him with a red pen. His aura is mostly clear, a calm serene lavender speaking to his focus and concentration. There’s a cut of something dark right on the edges, something she _knows_ means sadness and heartbreak and her own heart clenches in sympathy. She’s seen that color on too many people. It isn’t anything good.

“Hey,” she says, suddenly getting a brilliant idea. Arthur looks up at her with his brow still furrowed. “If you were to -- hypothetically -- write an essay about a topic of your choice related to _Jane Eyre_ for a 100 level English course, what would you write about?”

Arthur raises his eyebrows. “Hypothetically?”

Freya grins. “Yep. I’m sure since you are so fond of the English language and its literature you probably have conversations like this with your peers all the time.”

Arthur lets loose a lone chuckle and shakes his head. “I think that’s cheating.”

“I just need an idea!” Freya begs. She has four separate tests next week and that’s not even including the cumulative finals coming up. She doesn’t have excess time to invest in an essay she _really_ doesn’t care about. “I’m not good with words and meanings and symbolism. I’ve got a numbers brain. And I don’t want you to write it, I just need a topic to get me going.” She makes her eyes as wide as possible to show her clear desperation.

Arthur looks like he might be fighting a grin which she takes as a good sign. “Who’s your professor?”

“I’ve got McGuire.” She knows she is whining and probably laying it on too thick but she _really_ needs help with this essay.

Arthur winces in sympathy. “She’s tough.”

“I know! So please, help me. I’ll do anything. I’ll -- I’ll convince Merlin to stop being so mean to you!” It’s a rather impossible feat but surely that’s worth the price of helping her.

Arthur gives her a skeptical look. “I’m not sure anyone could do that.” His aura changes a little as he studies her, turning a shaper shade as if he is coming to his own realization. “If I help you with your essay,” he says slowly and she holds her breath in anticipation, “I want you to tell me how Merlin knows Elyan Smith, Gwen’s brother.”

Freya slumps in her seat. “But I don’t know how they know each other.”

“Can you find out?” Freya nods eagerly and runs across the room to sit by Arthur before he changes his mind. She trips on the way and watches as Arthur bites back a smile, the darkness in his aura almost gone. The only time she’s ever seen it disappear entirely is when he’s with Merlin. And even though Merlin always blocks his aura, she knows Arthur does the same thing for him, rounds some of his more jagged edges. Arthur brings out a side of Merlin she wishes Merlin would let show more often.

Arthur clicks his tongue. “It’s been a long time since I’ve read _Jane Eyre_. It’s not exactly my topic of focus or even in the time period. But what have you got so far?” He asks. She turns her screen toward him showing a blank document with only her name and her professor’s on the top. Arthur lets loose a much louder laugh and Freya hits his arm. He shakes his head grinning. “Sorry, alright what are the themes of the book?”

Freya puts her head in her hands. “Oh God, you’re gonna teach me.”

Arthur laughs again. “Come on, humor me. You want my help, don’t you?”

Freya does her best to stumble through a half-hearted answer about gender roles and misogyny and Arthur thankfully takes over when she struggles to articulate how _weird_ it is that the whole time Mr. Rochester kept his wife in the attic. Arthur is half in teacher mode as he explains the themes of the book but Freya doesn’t hold it against him. Merlin is _always_ in teacher mode when he talks to her. And Arthur is a _good_ teacher, she sees why there was such an uproar at the beginning of the semester about who got to take his class. Arthur also seems much happier like this, talking about something he enjoys rather than dwelling on whatever demons circle his thoughts. She’s not sure how to tell him that without sounding rude.

By the time Merlin slams the door open, as wet and brooding as a Victorain hero, she feels like she actually has a topic she’s interested in.

Merlin spares them one eye roll before he heads to his desk. Freya leans close to Arthur to stage whisper, “he’s just jealous we’re such good friends.” Merlin flashes her a much sharper glare and Freya grins wider. _Someone_ needs to give Merlin a push off the solitary island he has trapped himself on, it might as well be her. And she likes Arthur. She’s worried Merlin’s prickly exterior might genuinely scare him off one of these days. One of them needs to be friendly to keep him around.

Merlin frowns down at the huge object Freya placed on his desk this morning. “What the fuck is this?” Arthur shakes with silent laughter next to her.

Freya makes her eyes wide and innocent as she shakes her head. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

Merlin looks up from the object with a scowl. “Why is there a giant _cross_ on my desk?”

It is a fair question. The cross is enormous, size just shy of a tennis racket. Clearly some sort of home decor item for the very devout. Or at least that’s what Freya thought when she purchased it.

Freya gives him a look like she thinks he is an idiot. “It’s made of _gold_.” She emphasizes the last word in case Merlin forgot the job she was given.

Merlin digs the heel of his hand into his eyes. “Did you have to pick a cross?”

Another fair question. “I thought it was very fitting,” she says. “Plus they were out of almost everything else.” It had been a while since she’s been to the pawn shop but it looked exceedingly picked over. “It was this or a Buddha statue and this one seemed three percent less offensive.” She shrugs. “And like I said, it seemed fitting for a demon exorcism.” She gives him an expectant look. “So, what are we going to do now that we have it?”

Merlin sighs. “We are going to test it on whatever happens to be lurking around tonight. If the charm works, it should dispel a monster without me creating a portal.”

Freya bites her lip. “I actually can’t go.” Merlin’s face changes at once, growing concerned and anxious and she jumps back in before he arrives at the worst possible conclusion. She doesn’t think she’s ever met anyone who worries about people the way Merlin does. “Nothing bad happened!” He instantly relaxes. “I just have so much school to do.” She nods at the man who has gone uncharacteristically silent next to her. He’s been _very_ quiet ever since he learned about the dangers of the Emrys magic and Merlin might think he’s being subtle but it has been obvious that he’s been avoiding being alone with Arthur. _Someone_ also needs to get them to kiss and make up. Freya has to do all the real work around here. “Take DeBois.”

Merlin crosses his arms in a petulant stance. “I think I’ll go alone.”

Freya raises her chin at him. “Rule Number --”

Merlin waves her off. “Fine, fine, _fine_! Though I’d like to point out we’ve basically burned the rule book at this point.” With a deep breath he turns to Arthur. “Would you even want to come?”

“Yes,” Arthur says, and adds, “obviously,” not quite under his breath.

Merlin gives a fake smile. “Of course you would. Then monster slaying it is,” he says before he sits before the Scanner, an angry scowl on his face.

These two might be the most oblivious people Freya has ever met. She watches them over the top of her laptop as the two of them work, shooting not-so-subtle glances when the other isn’t looking. What a bunch of idiots. They better get their shit together soon or Freya really is going to have to do something to push them together for her own sanity.

Hopefully a full night hunting the supernatural will do the job for her.

\--

“Just ask your question, Arthur.”

It’s night and they are patrolling campus, snaking their way along the border on the east side. The brick buildings of a few of the freshman dorms visible, nearly every window still illuminated. The moon sinks behind one of the swollen clouds.

Arthur looks over at the monster hunter glaring at the ground, a little surprised he broke the silence. Merlin has been avoiding him. Or at least being _alone_ with him and it’s been a rather awkward evening.

“I have a lot of questions,” Arthur hedges. He knows Merlin well enough to know he can’t jump right into what he is thinking. It will be easier if he get him to lower his guard first. And even then Merlin probably won't answer anything.

Merlin awards him with an annoyed scowl and when he catches the smirk on Arthur’s face he twists his mouth in a way like he might be biting his cheek to stop from smiling. A smile from Merlin is a rare prize indeed.

“Then you may as well start going down your list,” Merlin says, gesturing with the giant cross in his hand.

“You’re dying.”

Merlin shrugs. “Everyone’s dying.” 

Arthur lets out a frustrated breath of air, tired of Merlin’s game. Dangling a piece of information before him before pushing him away. “If you don’t want to talk about it that’s fine just be _honest_ ," Arthur snaps and Merlin blinks at him in shock. Arthur shakes his head. "You don’t have to do your deflection bullshit. I know you well enough to know when you’re hiding something. You can just say you don’t want to tell me, it’s not like it will hurt my feelings.” It won't hurt his feelings because his feelings are already thoroughly fucked.

Before he can push ahead and avoid Merlin's gaze there's a hand on his arm, squeezing and stopping him in his tracks. Arthur tries not to lean into the touch but he’s pretty sure it’s the first time Merlin has touched him since Merlin first showed him the _harpies_. “Sorry. I’ll be honest.” Merlin smirks, somehow making the expression solemn. “Just for a minute.” A minute is more than he usually gives anyone.

Merlin is _so_ frustrating. He’ll look at Arthur like he’s ready to bare his soul and then turn to stone the next minute. Arthur might only have the chance to ask one question before Merlin throws his walls back up. “Why?” Before Merlin can ask for clarification Arthur continues. “Why would you agree to do this when you know that the price of the magic is death?”

Merlin lets out a heavy breath and starts walking again, crunching over twigs and leaves not bothering to be quiet. Arthur has no choice but to follow, the moon finally sneaking out and guiding their path.

“No Emrys has ever died from the magic. So no one really knows how long is _too_ long. But it’s assumed that since death is what instilled the magic in the first place, then it needs to feed off life. If one person is always the one supplying it, then they will run out.” Arthur bites his tongue, waiting, trusting that Merlin will get to the point sooner rather than later. “There isn’t a concrete number for how long is too long but….no one has had the magic as long as I have.” Merlin bites his lip and looks over at Arthur, looking unsure for the first time. The steely resolve usually present is absent and replaced with something softer, something that squeezes Arthur’s heart in his chest and makes him want to make sure Merlin never has to wear the expression again. “I was never supposed to have the magic this long.”

Merlin doesn’t freely offer information so Arthur has to ask, “what happened?” so he has permission to continue his story.

Merlin lets out another long breath, like it costs him _so much_ to give all this to Arthur. And it probably does. Arthur is nearly dizzy at the realization at the _trust_ Merlin must have in him to tell him this. “Mordred failed the Ascension.” Arthur furrows his brows, missing something. Merlin swallows. “No one has ever failed before in the entire history of the program. Apprentices have quit the training and opted out and taken back their vow. But no one has ever gone through training and fought monsters and learned how to use magic and sworn themselves to Emrys and proved themselves capable on three separate occasions and not been given the magic.” He shakes his head and looks up at the moon, watches as it disappears from sight once more. “We went to that dumb little island where the ceremony always takes place and I was so _excited_ , so ready to be done. And no one has ever failed so I wasn’t even worried. And then Mordred said the Emrys vow, the one that said he was ready for the responsibility of magic and I said I trusted him and then….nothing. It wasn’t like when I was with Morgana where the magic left her in a gust of wind and hit me like a ton of bricks. It was _nothing_.” There’s a bitterness on Merlin’s tongue and Arthur knows it is not directed at the boy who failed.

“You blame yourself?” Arthur asks, though that much is more than obvious.

It breaks the spell of this vulnerable Merlin. His eyes widen for one moment as if realizing all he said, realizing all Arthur can see of him and then he shuts down at once, face closing off and mask back in place and Arthur wants to kick himself. Dealing with Merlin is a complicated procedure and Arthur knows better than to tread heavily on certain topics. Merlin takes off once more, faster, and Arthur stumbles along the thick roots to follow.

“Who else is to blame?” Merlin asks, voice dead of emotion.

It's obviously a rhetorical question but Arthur answers anyway. “Sometimes things just happen.”

“You couldn’t --” Merlin stops and shakes himself, doesn’t say whatever was on his mind. “I shouldn’t have told you all that.”

“Why not?” Arthur’s pushing again but he can’t help it. Merlin wants to make himself this suffering martyr and he doesn’t _have_ to, if he opened himself up just a little Arthur would be more than willing to take some of his burden. But he doesn’t know how to convince Merlin, not when he doesn’t want to listen and is so content to suffer.

Merlin stops walking at his words but doesn’t turn to look at him. The night is painting him in shadows again and Arthur aches for the moon to come out once more and bring Merlin to life.

“You don’t know what it’s like.”

He whispers it and if Arthur wasn’t always so attuned to Merlin, always ready to listen to whatever it was he had to say he might have missed it.

“Being Emrys?” he asks.

Merlin shakes his head, still not looking at Arthur. Still looking out into the expanse of the wood. “Being lonely.”

The words are a punch to the gut. It’s a soft punch because he’s never heard Merlin sound so anguished and raw. But it’s still a punch.

“You don’t have a monopoly on loneliness,” he snaps, the anger he works so hard to keep in check boiling low in his gut. Merlin shoots him a look, ready to fight and for the first time Arthur wants to _really_ fight back. He’s already been pushing, how bad could the damage be if he gives a shove? “I’m not pretending I can understand what it’s like growing up with magic and having to hide it from everyone and living in fear of discovery but….Christ Merlin, I woke up one morning and found my mother _dead_ when I was just a kid. I moved in with a father who was emotionally abusive and absent in equal measures who tried to pit Morgana and I against one another. But then Morgana got to leave and go home to her mom and I was still stuck with _him_. You think I don’t know what it’s like to feel alone?” Arthur shakes his head and looks at the ground, anger leaving him all at once. “Sorrow isn’t a competition. And you aren’t doing yourself any favors by acting like it is.”

It’s quiet and Arthur wonders if he went too far but Merlin _needs_ to hear it. If he keeps up this attitude he’s going to push everyone away. And even if he doesn’t want to let Arthur in, he deserves to let _someone_ in. No one should be this alone.

There’s a hand on his shoulder and he looks over with a start. Merlin's eyes are so sad Arthur can practically feel his heart break.

“You’re right,” Merlin says, voice still soft. “I was being an asshole.”

It's Arthur who feels like an asshole because he's almost preening at the fact that Merlin said he was right. But he doesn't say that out loud. “I didn’t mean --”

Merlin smiles and Arthur's mouth snaps shut. A smile, a _real_ smile from Merlin always stops him dead in his tracks every time. “No, I was. I’ve spent so long being fed up with my situation it’s made me selfish.”

“You’re not selfish,” Arthur corrects and Merlin quirks an eyebrow. “You’re the least selfish person I’ve ever met. You bend over backwards to help everyone whether or not it’s your job. You’re just….hurting.” He shrugs suddenly feeling hot under Merlin’s intense gaze, still open and honest without the hard edge usually present. “It skews perception.”

Merlin grins again. Arthur doesn’t know what to do with this new smiling Merlin and wonders how long he will stick around, wonders if this Merlin is the _real_ Merlin and the stoic man he's seen has been a front of protect himself.

“That’s pretty wise for you,” Merlin says, the teasing in his voice so much more obvious than usual. Almost like he might be flirting.

Arthur cracks a tentative smile, feeling like maybe he and Merlin are _finally_ on closer ground. “Thanks, though it should be noted that I stole that line from my therapist.”

Merlin laughs and his eyes crinkle right at the corners. The moon comes out bringing him to life and Arthur can feel his breath catch in his throat. There’s a chance the new almost-happy Merlin might be more dangerous for Arthur than the old one.

Then Merlin’s phone buzzes and he looks down, grin still firmly in place. “A _serket_ near the Southeast entrance, looks like we’ll get to do some monster hunting after all. Would have preferred something smaller to test this out on but I guess we’ll take what we can get.”

“Just like old times?” Arthur asks.

A high-pitched scream cuts through the night and Merlin’s face falls, moment broken. “A little too much so.” Then he takes off into the night.

\--

Merlin takes off at a dead sprint, edging his way away around the woods, using magic to propel him fast enough that he knows he’s blurring just a little, holding the charm by the long end of the cross. He can sense Arthur behind him mumbling something that might be “show off” and Merlin has to bite back a laugh.

He feels lighter after their conversation, light in a way he hasn't felt since childhood. As if a bit of that lonely burden he carries so close to his heart is less heavy.

But he doesn’t have time to think about Arthur. It’s time to be Emrys.

He’s past the freshman dorms and across the parking lot in four strides, the Endicott building coming into view when another scream echoes through the chilly late night air. He skids to stop at the steps of the entrance. Just on the edge of the forest a girl is cowered on the ground as a beast looms over her, her arms are thrown up to protect her face. The beast resembles a giant scorpion, far taller than Merlin when it rears back on its hind legs. It’s two front pincers snap at the air before it. It’s tail stretches high into the sky, the deadly stinger pointed at the girl, ready to strike.

He would have rather tested their new magical artifact on a creature that _didn’t_ secrete a deadly venom but he supposes beggars can’t be choosers.

Merlin plants his feet in the ground and lets the Emrys magic fill him entirely, until there’s lightning under his skin, fire in his veins, and power filling his soul. The charm gives off a near blinding glow as the magic passes into it. With a growl the magic surges up in a sharp crack, power shaking the very earth he stands on. With a scream, he throws out a hand before him, his eyes burning with molten fire, and a wave of magic hits the creature sending it soaring into the woods where it crashes into the trees with a thud. It lands on its back and its spindly legs kick useless at the air as it tries to regain purchase.

There’s heavy footfalls on the walkway behind him and Arthur shakes his head as he stops by Merlin’s side, panting a little. “I thought the whole point was to _not_ use your magic and instead use the charm?” Arthur says in a needlessly arrogant tone.

Merlin’s soaring from the adrenaline and magic and maybe also the hot fluttery sensation in his gut from the smile Arthur is giving him. Merlin knows his eyes are still gold, the magic in him still consuming, whittling away at his usual defenses, but he flashes Arthur a grin before he can think too much about it. “Maybe you’re right. I wanted to show off.”

Arthur looks momentarily taken aback before the girl screams again, the _serket_ back on its feet and scrambling toward them

Oh, right. Monster, Victim, Emrys.

“Go to the girl,” Merlin orders. For once Arthur obeys and Merlin turns to face the beast.

It’s going to be tricky getting close enough to _serket_ to press the charm against its exoskeleton without actually getting stung. Not that the venom would kill him, the Emrys magic would heal him and Gaius can brew an antidote but he’d rather not undergo the vivid hallucinations that come from the toxin. There’s a commotion at the front of the Endicott building and he can see Arthur in his peripheral, helping the girl toward it, hopefully to curtail any curious bystanders who heard the screams.

Merlin growls, low and deep, and in the language of the monsters. The _serket_ does as predicted and changes course to charge him. It’s strange, not making a portal to throw the beast through, knowing that he is going to have to rely on his magic to fell the beast.

With his senses heightened time seems to slow. The beast scurries toward him, pincers snapping and Merlin stands his ground, knuckles tightening on the charm, power stinging him from the base of his neck all the way to his toes. A lightning rod down his spine.

He waits until the beast is nearly on him, stinger pulled back, and then it _strikes_. The stinger sings through the air with a whip-like crack, ready to imbed itself in Merlin’s chest and pierce him through. But the moment the tail flashes forward, he moves, lunging forward and sliding under the beast on his back. He hears a squelch as the stinger is buried deep in the earth and before the _serket_ can move again he presses the charm against the meaty flesh of its underbelly.

There’s a whistling scream so high pitched Merlin can feel it in his eyes, in his brain, a steak driving its way through his skull. It’s so loud he desperately wants to clamp his hands against his ears but he keeps the gold pressed against the creature, ignoring the hot burning sensation in his hands and the smell of slightly charred skin. The scream gets louder and more shrill until the smell of smoke and ash and sulfur fills his nostrils and the air grows humid and muggy and cold all at once. Then with a final _pop_ , the creature disappears in a puff of smoke leaving a suffocating cloud of shadow dust in its wake.

Merlin rolls to his knees and coughs until the dust leaves his lungs, ignoring the burns on his palms. When he catches his breath he looks at Arthur crouched on the ground next to him. He’s still dizzy, part of him still in that world of magic, and he flashes Arthur a big grin.

“I guess your idea worked after all.”

Arthur stares at him for a few long moments. “I think there might be something wrong with you.”

Merlin grins wider. “You’re just now realizing that?”

And then Arthur throws his head back and laughs and Merlin thinks he might get drunk off that sound.

\--

Morgana is buzzing with energy by the time she finally finishes sending her last work email. Night has set long ago. After her conversation with Isolde she spent her day avoiding her actual job and instead looking over the complaints Isolde sent her from the clients she had declined, the ones it seemed like would be in the market to hunt a _person_ rather than a beast. It took longer than it should have because people from her department kept popping in to remind her of the fundraiser gala next week and ask how her lesson plans for the following semester were coming along. She had to hastily close the tabs on her computer more than once lest she get fired. She contemplated reaching out to Gwen to see if she wanted to go through the reports with her but decided against it. Despite what Gwen might believe, there _is_ a weakness involved in asking for help. It makes you reliant on others. And Morgana never wants to rely on anyone but herself.

Now she’s certain that her suspicions are correct. The Sorcerer behind this must have been working on it for _months_ , targeting each and every corner of Camelot to avoid suspicion.

She stares at her sleek monitor before pulling up the latest email from Morgause, sent this morning just before she went to visit Isolde asking if Morgana has put up the Emrys wards.

Morgause _has_ to know about the uptick in robberies and she’s smart enough to realize what they all have in common, so why wouldn’t she tell Morgana? Unless she was the one behind them. But then why involve the Emrys program at all? Why would she bring in a team of magic experts to look into crimes that she herself was committing? Morgause is many things but stupid isn’t one of them. If she is behind this then she must have some larger plan at work that Morgana can’t see.

Morgana scrubs her hands over her eyes. Or maybe her paranoia is at the point where it is completely clouding her judgement.

She closes the email. It’s something she can deal with tomorrow.

She gets all the way to her car before she realizes she forgot her keys inside.

“Mother fucker,” she growls, heading back inside.

The first floor is bustling with students in their studios but as she climbs the stairs it gets darker and quieter. She was the last one left on her floor when she left. When she reaches the top floor, she finds someone standing before her office wearing a familiar gray hoodie, pulled tight around their face, and picking her lock.

“I actually have the key if you’d prefer to rob me instead.” There’s a sense of déjà vu as the Sorcerer turns to face her, shrouded in shadow. Morgana cocks one eyebrow. “Going to attack me again?” she taunts because this time she’s not going to go down without a fight. She might not have Emrys magic but she’s attuned enough to the magic of the world to bend it to her will, if only for a moment.

The Sorcerer throws out a hand and sends the same wave of magic toward her. With all her concentration Morgana _pulls_ , tugs at the fabric of the universe, until the air before her shimmers and coalesces. The spell hits her shield with a hollow thud. Her vision whites out a little from the effort but she’s already moving, charging down the hall after the other person. A spell like that would make them just as weak as Morgana. All she needs to do is _catch_ them.

What she does not count on is the Sorcerer standing their ground and bursting into flames. She has one moment of pure terror before she crashes into them and burns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Updates on Wednesdays!
> 
> Next Chapter Features: Bad ass women :D
> 
> Comments and kudos are amazing!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, hello, sorry I missed last week's update. I had computer issues which led to a series of unfortunate events. My computer still isn't fixed so I cannot guarantee weekly updates but I promise I will do my best!

Bright, burning flames crackle and spark around her as Morgana takes hold of the Sorcerer and they tumble to the ground. The figure lets out a wheezing breath on the landing. They must have thought Morgana was going to stop. Their mistake.

The fire licks at her skin but she only grips the Sorcerer tighter. They try to pull themselves from her grasp and the two struggle, fire and smoke fills the hall around them.

The charm around her neck, the one she made herself when she was just an Apprentice and enchants every few months, burns hot against her chest, branding her skin as the magic comes to life. She bites back a scream against the searing pain. The rest of her remains untouched by the flames.

“Let go of me!” The voice says. It’s angry, with a high timbre. They kick at Morgana and land a blow to her stomach which sucks the air from her lungs. The smoke isn’t helping. It’s hard to breathe. 

But like hell if she’s letting go.

She digs her hands into the fabric at their shoulder as they try to twist and squirm away from her. The fire roars loud in her ears.

“Why are you doing this! What are you after?” She yells. She only gets an angry scream in response.

Morgana pulls tighter and feels a give, the tension is gone and she hits the ground with a painful crack. The person, likely a girl given their size and voice, has shed their hoodie and Morgana crouches on the ground with the fabric bunched in her hands.

The Sorcerer stands above her, despite the light flickering off the flame she cannot see their face. “I work for the Shadows,” they snarl before throwing out an arm. Morgana has one moment to brace herself before she’s hit with a gust of air. She skids across the floor, through the intense heat of the flames, fingers scrambling against the tiles for purchase, until she hits the wall with a thud. The Sorcerer certainly has a signature spell.

Sweat stings her eyes as she squints against the fire but she knows the Sorcerer is gone.

Morgana rolls to her knees, coughing against all the smoke in the air, filling her lungs, choking her. The charm might protect her skin but it does fuck all about her airways. There’s a screech as the pipes let loose and she’s doused with foul smelling water shooting from the sprinklers lining the hall. A strobe light goes off and a voice loudly declares “there is a fire, please remain calm and exit the building,” over and over in a soothing yet authoritative tone.

She grits her teeth and shakes her head. She’s not going to _die_ in her fucking place of work. She starts to crawl.

On hands and knees she makes her way to the end of the hall, using the sweatshirt to swat at any flames in her path. There’s a heat in her veins from more than just the fire. Before this was a case, now it’s _personal_. They targeted Morgana and that’s something she won’t forgive.

She pushes herself into the stairwell and uses the railing to pull herself to her feet with a groan. Black splotches flood her vision and she grips the rail so tight the chipped paint scrapes against her already sore palms. Fuck, what she wouldn’t give to have the Emrys magic right now.

She stumbles down, scarf pulled up over her nose and keeps her head bent. She almost passes out twice more before she stumbles out of the stairwell just as the flashing lights of a firetruck arrive.

She doesn’t want to deal with Campus Safety and construct careful lies. That’s Merlin’s job. But, _fuck_ , she doesn’t want to tell Merlin about this either. He’s going to lose it. Literally. 

Merlin is going to give her a lecture asking why she didn’t come to him sooner and how could she be so _stupid_ and _then_ he’s going to fire her. She doesn’t want that. Maybe the only reason she came back was to make sure Arthur was safe but it’s different now. She has something to prove. And she owes it to Merlin.

And she needs to kick the Sorcerer’s ass.

She groans dramatically, or she tries to. She’s cut off by a wave of coughing that nearly sends her to her knees.

Though Morgana has many talents, asking for help is not one of them. In her experience the moment you show people your vulnerability, your weakness, they take note to use it against you. But she might die if she tries to get herself home.

She can’t call Merlin because she hasn’t solved the case. She can’t call Arthur because he will tell Merlin. Gaius is out and Freya might be bribed but...

She pulls out her phone and hits the call button before she can think too much about it. She tries not to sound pathetic as she says, “I need a favor.”

\--

“Merlin!” 

A man in an ill-fitting suit runs over to where Arthur is crouched beside the Sorcerer. 

Merlin presses his lips together to stop laughing and Arthur has to do the same. 

Nothing is remotely funny about the situation. Not the terrifying scorpion that attacked the girl, not the girl herself who is sitting on the steps with a cluster of professors looking like she’s moments away from a breakdown, not _Merlin_ who disappeared beneath a monster and emerged coated in ash looking like a chimney sweep from _Mary Poppins_. But he and Merlin keep dissolving into a fit of giggles like children at a sleepover about to get one over on their parents.

Arthur likes this new Merlin, inappropriate though he may be. He hopes he sticks around.

Merlin shakes his head and puts on an expression of seriousness. He takes the man’s offered hand to pull him to his feet and gives him a nod. “Dr. Muirden.”

The other man gives Arthur an appraising look which he doesn’t know what to do with. For one panicked moment Arthur is worried he knows exactly who he is just like Gaius did and is going to out him before he’s had the chance to explain. 

Muirden clears his throat. “Is everything alright? I was in a Department meeting when we heard the screams and once I saw the _serket_ I tried my best to keep everyone inside but,” he shakes his head and flashes a sheepish grin, “it’s hard to convince your colleagues that blood curdling screams don’t mean anything.”

Merlin lets out a sigh. “It’s fine. Thank you. Just a normal banishing, the usual.”

Muirden nods, skepticism written in his every feature. “Alright….Let me know if you need anything else. I’ll try to shepherd everyone inside --”

He’s cut off by a high pitched howl coming from the space the scorpion creature disappeared. Arthur and Merlin turn in unison, Merlin already lowering his stance, magic sparking gold at his fingertips, Arthur ready to step in front of the other man.

The older man sucks in a gasp and shudders back a few steps. “I think it might be --”

“A _Hellhound_ ,” Arthur finishes as the creature materializes with a _pop_ right before them. Arthur relaxes his shoulders and Merlin lets his hands fall to his side, sparks fading. The beast’s eyes are molten gold. It bounds up to Arthur and he crouches down to scratch its ears. “Hello, Patrick.”

Merlin turns to the professor. “We, um, sort of tamed one….it's kind of a long story. _And we aren’t calling it Patrick_ ,” Merlin hisses.

Arthur smirks at Merlin over his shoulder. “Well, you didn’t like my choice.”

“You wanted to call it Orpheus.”

“And I stand by that.”

Muirden is glancing between them nervously, still taking rather large steps backward. “Right -- well -- if you’ve got it handled Merlin.”

Merlin waves him off and Muirden turns on his heel and hauls ass back to the building.

“Who’s he?” Arthur asks when he’s far enough away not to overhear.

Merlin looks up from trying to brush off his pants, hands coming away coated in soot. “My advisor. Former Emrys.” Merlin comes over and the _Hellhound_ gives his hand a cursory sniff as well before nudging its head into Merlin’s hand. Merlin rolls his eyes but sinks his hands into the shadows of its mane clearly fighting a smile.

Arthur looks back at the other man leaving a trail of dusty footprints in his wake. “I don’t think he liked me.”

Merlin hums. “He’s a really good judge of character.” Arthur shoots him a glare and Merlin grins. He looks down at the _Hellhound_ in amusement. “You’re a little late, bud. The monster came and went before you showed up to protect us. Freya’s going to be _so_ mad she wasn’t here.”

“Is that why it came then?” Arthur asks as the creature begins sniffing at all the shadow dust on the ground. “The spell you gave it was some sort of protection?”

Merlin blows out a big breath. “I think it’s a contract. You can command them but in their service they also show up to protect you from monsters? This one is pretty young, maybe it’ll get faster as it gets older.”

“Better not tell Freya.” Merlin furrows his brow and Arthur grins. “If she finds out all she has to do to see the beast from hell is put her life in danger she might start summoning creatures herself.”

Merlin snorts and shakes his head. He gives a high whistle and the creature sits at attention. Merlin’s voice goes into a deep rumble and Arthur can feel something hot flood his veins. He _really_ likes that voice. He’s desperately hoping his cheeks aren’t as hot as they feel.

When Merlin finishes speaking the creature throws its head back and howls before vanishing in another cloud of smoke. Merlin nods over his shoulder and says, “Come on, let’s go talk to the girl.”

The girl in question looks young, shivering, wearing a t-shirt for a band Arthur vaguely recalls Morgana telling him to listen to a few years ago. He shrugs off his own jacket and hands it to her. 

Her lip trembles as she takes it. “Thank you. My jacket got ripped,” she sniffles. There’s a weariness in her eyes as she watches Merlin. Merlin looks away and clenches his fist, all earlier amusement gone. Arthur’s heart sinks as he realizes the girl is _scared_ of Merlin. He wonders how often this happens. How often Merlin saves someone only for them to cower away from him in fear. How awful it must make him feel.

Arthur sits on the steps next to her and she looks over at him with a guarded expression. “Can you tell us what happened?”

She looks between the two of them and swallows. “I was walking toward my dorm and that _thing_ just appeared out of the woods.” She glances up at Merlin with an intense expression. “But it’s gone? You killed it? You have... _magic_?” the word is hushed.

“Yes.” He says it evenly, keeping his expression perfectly blank. Whether it's because he doesn't want to startle her or because he's upset, Arthur doesn't know.

The girl looks back at Arthur and Arthur shakes his head before she can ask. “I don’t have any.”

She looks disappointed and chews on her lip for a minute. “I think I have it too,” she whispers. Arthur looks at Merlin who is watching the girl with the same weariness she gave him earlier. “I think I have magic.”

There’s the sound of sirens in the distance and Merlin spares a glance at the street that circles campus. “We need to get out of here before Emergency Services arrive.” But even as Merlin says it, the sirens blow by at high speeds, the wailing fading as they head toward their actual destination. Apparently it’s a busy night on campus.

The girl looks up with her eyes wide in trepidation. “If I come with you, I’ll be safe?”

Merlin nods. “Of course. We can give you a charm to keep you protected and everything.” He holds out a hand to help her to her feet. “I’m Merlin.”

After a moment looking between the hand and Arthur she takes it. “I’m Kara.”

“Nice to meet you, Kara. Let’s get you monster-proof.”

\--

Gwen hangs up the phone as she comes into the room. Elyan is on the couch watching the _Great British Baking Show_ with the sort of attention their father gave to football on Sundays. He’s sitting cross legged on the cushion, his plaid pajama pants bunched up to his knees. It’s a pair that matches one she owns. Their father bought the set as a joke the previous year but Elyan enthusiastically adored them and made Gwen wear them right away so they could take a picture.

There’s a burning pain in her heart as she looks at him but she clears her throat and asks, “can I borrow your car?”

He gives her a puzzled look. “Is everything alright?”

Part of her wants to say, _a Sorcerer attacked a woman I barely know and for some reason I was the contact she chose_ , just to see what he’ll do. But she can’t make herself say it.

So she shakes her head and says, “I just have a friend who needs a ride from campus.”

Elyan clicks his tongue. “I understand that. Keys are on the hook, don’t stay out too late, it’s a school night.”

She gives an eye roll as she grabs the keys. “I’ll do my best.”

She knows Elyan is lying about something. It’s not a suspicion anymore, it’s a fact. She heard him in an intense argument on the phone while she froze in the hall just outside his door. She only got half the conversation but the phrases “I’m close” and “they don’t suspect me, I swear” and “just give me a few more weeks and I’ll have it” _really_ don’t seem promising.

But he won’t tell her so she doesn’t know what to do. Her brother probably wouldn’t be involved in anything…. _evil_. That’s not in his nature. But he is incredibly susceptible to peer pressure and can be a bit of an adrenaline seeker. So maybe it’s time to push for some answers. And if she can’t push her brother she’ll just have to push someone else.

She finds Morgana leaning against the back wall of the Science Building, hidden in shadow.

“Morgana?” She steps into the light and Gwen feels her heart sink. “Morgana! Are you alright?” The other woman is covered in soot, clothes charred and she smells like singed synthetic fibers. Her usually tidy hair is loose and wild, whipping in the wind that the building doesn’t block. She tries to talk but dissolves into a coughing fit. “Don’t talk,” Gwen says, stepping into Protector Mode without really giving herself permission too. “Christ, when I saw the flashing lights I should have known it was something awful.”

Morgana swallows and chokes out, “most things dealing with me usually are.”

Gwen shoots her a glare. “Don’t say that. We need to get you to an ambulance.” Morgana looks like she herself may have fought the fire. 

To her surprise, Morgana tries to pull herself out of Gwen’s iron grip. “I don’t want any treatment.”

Gwen looks at her with her mouth agape, gesturing to her clothes. “You were in a _fire_! You called me for help!”

“I’m _fine_ ,” she hisses, gesturing at the expanse of her body and swaying on her feet, undermining her point in Gwen’s opinion. “And I don’t want some stranger poking at me, especially not an 18-year-old volunteering for training hours.”

Gwen rolls her eyes skyward. “What is it about being a monster hunter that makes you so determined to not need anyone else?” she snaps.

In a voice so quiet Gwen suspects she didn’t mean to say it outloud, Morgana says, “a lifetime of experience.”

Gwen feels herself soften in spite of herself. Morgana’s stubbornness must stem from some personal demon but if she doesn’t get help she might be seriously hurt. And Gwen has plenty of experience dealing with stubborn people with her family. She squares her shoulders, ready to fight. 

“You said you’d let me help you.” It’s a statement, not a question. Gwen keeps her expression serious and solemn, so Morgana knows she isn’t joking, this isn’t something she can brush off.

Morgana blinks. “Right but I meant like -- I don’t know -- breaking into the county records office.”

Gwen gives her a look like she thinks she’s insane. “Why would you….you know what? Let’s table that conversation for after you are doing better. You’ll let someone you know take a look at you? Since you don’t want a stranger?"

“I suppose…” Before Morgana can say anything else, Gwen is dragging her into the Science Center, up to the faculty breakroom for her Department where they keep the extra first aid supplies in case the labs start to run low. 

Morgana doesn’t complain but Gwen assumes it’s more from exhaustion than being comfortable with what is happening. Gwen sits her down on top of the counter by the sink and Morgana only rolls her eyes while Gwen starts examining her for burns.

When she takes off her sweater, a grisly brand in the same shape as Gwen’s charm is visible above the line of her tank top Gwen hits her with an irate glare. “Not injured my ass.”

Morgana makes a frustrated noise but other than that she lets Gwen clean up the burn. “I didn’t know you were a medic," she croaks after a few moments. "I thought you were a grad student.”

Gwen doesn’t look up from her work, popping open some Neosporin and unwrapping a bandage. “For a while I thought I was going to med school so I was one of those 18-year-olds you scorned,” she shrugs. “I still might. I don’t know. I have issues making decisions. Right now I’m working on a Master’s.” She presses her lips together before she keeps talking. She always does this, gives too much of herself away without asking for anything back. But she doesn’t know how to stop.

“That’s impressive,” Morgana rasps, keeping her gaze firmly locked on Gwen’s hands pressing against her sternum.

Gwen looks up at her and flashes a skeptical smile. Morgana blushes a little and Gwen tries to make her own cheeks not heat at the proximity. She suddenly realizes how incredibly close they are. A nervous laugh escapes before she can catch it. “It’s impressive that I decided _not_ to go to medical school?”

Morgana shakes her head. “That you know all this.”

Gwen shrugs as she presses a sticky bandage to her chest. “I only know it because I studied it. I’m sure you know just as much about Art and History and Magic that I know about science.”

Morgana tilts her head to the side and gives her a smirk. “How’d you know I studied history?”

She can feel her eyes widen and now her cheeks are definitely burning. She swallows and takes a large step back. “I told you I googled all of you. It’s on your faculty page.” Morgana is studying her with a furrowed brow and Gwen starts packing up the supplies so she doesn’t have to meet it. “Why did you call me?”

“Hmm?”

“Just now. If it wasn’t to patch you up?”

Morgana cracks her neck. “Oh, I just wanted a ride home. Figured I might pass out at the wheel if I tried to drive.”

Gwen still doesn’t understand. “But why call me? Don’t you have friends? People who know about your magic?”

Morgana gives a hollow laugh. “I don’t have anyone like that.”

“People who know about your magic?”

“Friends.” Morgana hastily averts her gaze and presses her lips together. Gwen gets the feeling she’d take the words back if she could. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t need them. I don’t need anyone.”

“Me either,” Gwen says. “Not, um, the magic, just the friends. My program is astonishingly cliquey and evidently I didn’t get chosen for any of them. I just have Elyan, and I suppose Arthur.” Gwen flashes her a nervous smile. “And you.”

Morgana‘s next smile is small and secret. “When did we become friends?”

“When I prevented you from getting an infection from that burn.” Morgana lets out a loud cackle. Gwen desperately wants to ask about Elyan but she doesn’t want to lose Morgana’s trust. She decides to change the subject. “What happened?”

Morgana lets out a long breath. “You remember our friend from the other day?”

“Shit,” Gwen swears. “Someone attacked you? And tried to burn down the whole building?”

Morgana nods. “Apparently.”

“What does that mean?”

And then, because Morgana must _clearly_ have a very twisted view of the world, she smiles big and bold. “It means that I must be onto something. And I’m a big enough threat that they want to take me out.”

Gwen stares at her in horror. “Why would that excite you?”

Morgana rubs her hands on her knees. “Because if I’m close then I can stop them.”

“Are you going to tell Merlin?”

Morgana doesn’t answer right away, keeping her gaze fixed on a dirty stain on the floor. “Have you ever fucked up so bad you don’t know how to make it better? And really, there isn’t anything you can do to make it better, not without taking the mistake back completely? But that’s not possible so you just have to prove some other way that you aren’t that same shitty person anymore?”

Gwen looks at Morgana and feels sorrow tugging at her chest. “You could try talking.”

Morgana shakes her head. “I’m not…. _good_ at talking about anything that matters. I can’t get my thoughts together enough to not sound like an asshole. And I’m prone to anger, quick and vicious, and I always lash out before someone else has the chance to.” She looks up at Gwen with the same expression she gave her in the parking lot when she first asked for help. “So I’ve got to try something else.”

Gwen leans back against the cabinet. “If you die, you don’t think Merlin will take that a little personally?”

She sighs. “No, he will. He’ll be….I’m _not_ going to die. I wouldn’t let it go that far. I just -- I want to do _something_. Bring him the smallest trace of good news before I have to drop a bomb on him.”

“Then maybe you should try something easier,” Gwen says gently.

“Yeah….maybe.” Morgana clears her throat and Gwen can practically see the shields going back in place, blocking out any trace of vulnerability. “So you still willing to give me a ride home?”

Gwen nods and tries to flash an easy smile. Like she really is just doing this to help a friend and not because she has an ulterior motive. Trapped in a car with her, Morgana isn't going to have anywhere to escape to and she'll be forced to answer Gwen's questions.

But she doesn't feel good about thinking this way.

\--

It’s quiet in the workshop, as Merlin works on charming the triskelion. It’s their last one. Better hope no one else gets attacked or they are going to need to get creative. Especially since Freya said the pawn shop was sold out of everything else gold. The only sound is Freya vigorously scrubbing at the coffee pot before she brews another batch, mumbling under her breath.

He’s not sure he’s ever seen her so annoyed.

 _So we’re just letting anyone in these days_ , Freya hissed when Merlin first came in.

Merlin narrowed his eyes at her. _Don’t be so rude._

 _You are always rude!_

Freya was, and still _is_ , upset he and Arthur got to see the _Hellhound_ again and they didn’t even _invite her_. As if it was some fun reunion party and not an attack from a literal monster.

Merlin glances up at the girl they brought in and she hastily looks away, blushing. She’s been quiet, spending most of her time taking in the workshop, her eyes wide as she looked at the pictures on the wall of impossible beasts, the jigsaw puzzle boxes serving as bookends on a few of their selves, and the books on the desk. It’s a bit odd to have the victim _here_ after a Monster Attack. Normally they walk them home, place some wards their door so nothing will come inside, and deliver the charm the following day. But it certainly expedites their interactions if Merlin can get it all done in one evening. He has bigger things to worry about than a girl with a little magic who just learned about the Ether.

Freya sits in the seat next to him with a thud.

“Are you almost done?”

Merlin doesn’t bother looking up at her. “You know magic takes time.”

“Why?” Kara asks, her fingers trailing along one of their open books. The intricate drawing of a portal is gold beneath her hand. It was one of the first Emrys’ attempts to head into the Ether. One of the only accounts they still have from the original ceremonies. A ceremony Merlin is more than willing to repeat should their Ether creature let them down. Most of the journals from those first days just detail the monsters they fought, not the magic they used. The only account of magic they have is whatever happens to be included in the handbook.

When she catches Merlin and Freya looking at her she blushes and fiddles with the straps of her backpack. “Sorry for being nosy, I just….I never thought this was real. I always thought I was crazy. I can’t do anything big like you did but sometimes it’s like I know things I shouldn't know.” She shakes her head. “It’s stupid.”

Merlin raises his eyebrows meaningfully and Freya lets out a breath, uncrossing her arms. “Alright, maybe I am being rude,” she grumbles.

Once again, Arthur sweeps in to save the day. “What kind of magic do you have? What can it do?” On the walk over Arthur had kept up an amicable conversation, asking her about her major and putting her at ease in a way Merlin wouldn’t have ever managed.

Kara flashes Arthur a nervous smile. “Um...I can sense stuff from objects sometimes? It’s like I know the person who had it and how they felt about it and what happened to it…” she finishes her statement with a look back at the book.

Merlin is loosely grateful for Arthur’s presence. Comforting people and getting their stories after displaying the full extent of his powers is usually a trial but with Arthur, Kara was already more open and talkative than most people he comes across.

And the Banishing Cross _worked_. It’s powered by Emrys magic but technically _anyone_ should be able to use it, just like the triskelion he’s enchanting. They need to test it on other creatures to see its limitations and how quickly the charm fades but….it _worked_. This is going to revolutionize the way they hunt monsters. He could even give charms like this to Victims to make them feel safer or bounty hunters so they don’t just slaughter the monsters and burn their bodies. It’s going to change the game.

And they never would have come up with the idea without Arthur.

Merlin had always taken issue with the strict and rigid code of the Emrys Project but he could never put his finger on why other than his personal aversion to following orders. But _this_ is the reason. They have spent so long doused in tradition and playing by the rules they’ve missed opportunities to do a better job.

Arthur with his good ideas and painful sincerity and fearlessness. Merlin shakes his head. He can pick through all the complicated feelings he has about Arthur later.

Merlin scrubs his hands over his eyes. Now that they know the _Hellhound_ is still bound to them, is still looking for Mordred, they know that the charm _should_ work against the demon to save him. It’s the smallest sliver of good news.

“Could you show me how to do that?”

Kara has made her way over to his table and is staring at Merlin’s hands where they emit a gentle glow pressed against the gold. He can feel Arthur watching him from the other side of the room. Merlin knows he’s just as curious about the mechanisms of magic.

“Magic takes concentration,” Freya says. Before Merlin can shoot her another glare she clears her throat. “But I can try to answer your questions.” It’s her way of apologizing for her unwelcoming reception.

Kara shoots Arthur a nervous look, pulling her backpack straps tight again before flicking her gaze to Freya. “Could _I_ learn how to do magic?”

Freya shrugs. “It would depend on how powerful you are. You already have a natural aptitude for magic with reading objects. A piece of the magic of the world has already made itself at home inside of you so you can use it without a thought. Channeling magic that isn’t as familiar is harder. Magic is all about concentration and being in tune with the world around you and _intention_. It’s turning your desire for something into an unshakeable belief that you already have it.”

Kara’s eyes are almost comically wide as she listens with rapt attention. Freya gives Merlin a questioning look and he nods for her to go on. She really is a good student if she can quote Gaius nearly verbatim.

“Using other magic usually takes some sort of boost.”

Kara’s brow furrows. “Like what?”

Freya shrugs. “There’s a couple different things. An external magical power source, sometimes gold objects are enough because gold amplifies magic, and….”

She trails off. Arthur finishes the sentence for her, “life.” 

Merlin can feel his eyes on him as he says it but Merlin doesn’t look up. It would probably take _years_ for the Emrys magic to use all of Merlin’s life up. Arthur is worrying over nothing. The magic is far more likely to keep Merlin going as long as possible than it is to drain him entirely. It needs a vessel and right now it’s Merlin.

Freya’s face twists into a grimace. “Yeah, stuff like that. It’s also _exhausting_. Magic is the most infuriating thing I’ve ever learned.”

Kara gives her a smile. “It’s annoying?”

“It definitely is annoying but I mean it is _literally_ exhausting. The….” Freya looks around trying to find the right word, “ _energy_ required to amplify your natural powers make you tired but the energy needed to use other forms of magic can make you pass out. Sleep is the only way to restore energy.”

“So magic is energy?” Kara asks.

Freya looks to Merlin for confirmation and he mulls over the words. “I suppose that’s one way to describe it….” 

But what if magic _is_ energy? Or rather magic is manipulating the energy of the world. Maybe that’s the piece he’s been missing. Maybe that’s how he’s going to be able to track magic with his Scanner. Anywhere there’s a huge spike in energy consumption they will know a fair bit of magic has been used.

It’s a theory to test at a later date.

Merlin cuts off his magic and removes his hand from the triskelion. It thrums and glows. He hands it to Kara who holds it in her hands like it’s the most precious thing she’s ever seen. “There you go. It will take a few hours before it reaches a maximum charge but all the magic is there. The monsters will give you a wide berth as long as you have that on your person. If they start bothering you again in a few months you can come back for a recharge.”

She looks up at him with her eyes still huge. “Could you teach me magic?”

He gives her a sad smile. “Unfortunately my schedule is pretty full but,” he heads over to the wall and grabs a business card from the stack there, “there are some other people who do that.”

She studies the card before looking up at him in confusion. “Why are you helping me? Why do you help anyone when you have power like this?”

He’s not sure what she’s getting at. “It’s my job. And what else would I do with it?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know but doesn’t this ever get old? Fighting the same monsters?”

He can feel the magic weighing on him, heavy as the metaphorical chains binding him to this school. There have been so many sleepless nights and too early mornings and close calls he reached the end of his energy so long ago he doesn’t even know what he’s running on now. He can’t stop his eyes from meeting Arthur’s as he says, “you have no idea.”

“But that’s what he’s got me for,” Freya says with a grin.

He gives her a fond smile. “I guess you’re right. You are good for something.”

An annoyed squawk is the only warning he gets before he ducks her swing.

\--

Despite her numerous assurances that she is _fine_ , Gwen stays close to Morgana’s side as they make their way to Gwen’s car.

Normally it would raise her hackles, someone assuming she’s too weak to take care of herself, offering assistance without Morgana’s explicit approval. But she’s not as irritated as she’d usually be. She’s probably too thoroughly exhausted.

It’s the only explanation for why she answered Gwen’s gentle prying questions. Her exhaustion, combined with the way Gwen’s profile looked in the shitty light of the break room, standing so close to the awful scent of her singed clothes it was momentarily masked by the soft vanilla scent coming from Gwen.

It made her just as dizzy as she had been in the stairwell.

Gwen thankfully doesn’t try to open her door for her or anything, at least picking up on her wounded pride enough to let her do that for herself.

The streets are fairly empty, the car quiet save Morgana’s directions.

Gwen’s profile is just as lovely in the car. Her sharp nose and jaw, a prominent contrast to the softness of her cheeks, the fullness of her lips. Her fingers itch to sketch, though she’d hardly do her beauty any justice. Christ, she’s starting to sound as hopelessly romantic as Arthur was growing up. In the summers when he’d gush over his latest infatuation, quoting lines of poetry she knows damn well he didn’t really understand at the time. Maybe she inhaled more smoke than she thought.

“Are you still willing to grant me a favor?”

She’d deny it if asked, but Gwen’s voice makes her jump. She clears her throat and schools her expression into one of neutrality. “You want to cash in now?”

Gwen gives a terse nod, not looking away from the road. The muscle in her jaw tenses and contracts as Morgana watches. She’s grinding her teeth. This must be quite the favor.

“I want you to tell me how you know my brother, Elyan.”

Fuck. Morgana really should have seen this coming. She’s a pretty shitty prophetess. “I don’t really know him,” she hedges, too late she remembers it’s the same excuse she used last time.

“Please,” Gwen says. And the way she says it makes something in Morgana’s heart contract. Gwen pulls right over on the side of the road and parks the car. She turns to Morgana practically radiating desperation. If it was anyone else she wouldn’t be worried. Morgana loves telling people “no” and is something of an expert at disappointing people. But she’s not sure Gwen falls into that category. 

She watches in trepidation as Gwen gnaws on her lip. “He’s my older brother and I’m just so worried about him. Growing up he was always landing himself in trouble. He’s so smart but he doesn’t have an ounce of common sense. After our mom left --“ she stops and starts again. “My dad did his best but I was the one who looked out for Elyan and made sure we all ate and that the house didn’t fall to ruin. And he and my dad used to get in these fights. And --“ she stops again, taking a deep breath. “Elyan….disappeared for a few years, claiming he had to go find himself or some bullshit. Then he turned up out of the blue one day saying he turned his life around and had a job and wouldn’t leave again but….I need to _know_ ,” she begs. “He works ridiculous hours and his apartment is full of superstitious monster hunting stuff and _something_ is going on.” She stops as her eyes start to sting with tears. “Please.”

Morgana looks down and swallows. It’s not just Gwen, it’s the request. Why does it have to be for a _sibling_? The story is tugging at heartstrings she didn’t even know she had. Morgana wants to be the sister in this story, the one who was there for her brother and provided for him where his father was lacking. It’s so different from the way her and Arthur’s actual relationship unfolded. Morgana might have more weaknesses than she wants to admit. 

When she looks up Gwen is staring at her with her eyes wide and pleading. “I’ve never met him, but I’ve heard of him, back when I was Emrys.”

“What did you hear?”

Morgana tries to give her a sympathetic look. “Emrys doesn’t work with outsiders often, but….we have a list of people who can help with certain things we can’t handle.” She pauses, deciding the best way to delicately bring up the next point. “We also have a list of people to avoid.”

Gwen apparently takes this news in stride, her expression remaining unchanged. “Elyan’s on that list?”

Morgana nods. “He was supposed to do a job for us. But he pocketed the cash and never showed.” Morgana shrugs. “It’s certainly not the worst offense on that list so I wouldn’t sweat it too much.” Morgana’s not great at comforting words but Gwen really looks like she could use it. “If he really did turn his life around then it doesn’t matter, yeah? And I’m sure if you asked him about it he’d tell you.”

The news isn’t as placating as Morgana wants it to be because Gwen asks the question Morgana was hoping to avoid. “What was the job?”

Morgana looks away again. “We needed someone to try and break into one of the freshman dorms to see if our wards affected the actual security system.”

“He volunteered to do breaking and entering?”

Morgana flashes her another sympathetic look. “He said that was his specialty.”

Gwen shakes her head and puts the car back into drive. “Of course he did.” She gnaws on her lips. “What if it’s him?” She keeps her eyes on the road but Morgana stares at her all the same. “What if he’s the one doing the stealing.”

“He’s not a Sorcerer,” Morgana says carefully.

“What if he’s working with someone who is?”

It’s something Morgana hadn’t considered but it’s a rather alarming possibility all the same.

The rest of the ride is quiet save Morgana’s directions until Gwen pulls up in front of her house.

“Thank you,” Gwen says and Morgana flashes her a look of surprise. “For telling me.”

Why is Gwen thanking her, for telling her something Morgana ought to have told her right away? She’s so different from Morgana, Morgana who pushes and demands and takes. Gwen is thankful for the crumbs she’s offered. It makes her irrationally angry that this woman who helped Morgana when she didn’t even have to doesn’t desire more.

But maybe Morgana can show her that she should demand more, she’s worthy of it.

“I think I still owe you a favor,” Morgana says at last.

Gwen gestures around. “I gave you a ride home, you told me my brother has a criminal past, we’re even.”

Morgana smirks and taps the center of her chest. “You also patched me up, so I still owe you.” Morgana might not have the words but she’s always a woman of action. “What would you say to figuring out where your brother really is when he’s working late? We can put your mind at ease.”

Gwen’s mouth opens in surprise. “Why would you do that for me?”

She shrugs, feeling uncomfortable under the awe in Gwen’s gaze. “I have a brother too. And….I understand the need to protect them from themselves.” It’s too much honesty so she deflects. “Plus, I don’t like to be in debt to people.”

Gwen smiles, something too soft for Morgana to be worthy of receiving. “Okay, sounds good.”

Morgana flashes a wide grin as she says, “then it sounds like we have a date.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Next Chapter features: Grappling with one's feelings in a Shakespeare Seminar, coffee shop flirting, and the world's worst father.
> 
> Comments and kudos are much appreciated :)


	11. Chapter 11

Ice crunches beneath the soles of Morgana’s boots as she makes her way down the snow covered path. The tread is heavy and her muscles give a familiar pull with each step. The moon is at the darkest part of its cycle but the world is a blinding white from all the snow. 

But that’s not right.

She stops and glances up at the sky. The new moon isn’t for a few days. And it hasn’t snowed, not yet, certainly not enough for a pearly white sheen such as this.

And wasn’t she somewhere else just a moment ago? A place where gold was spinning and morphing, and hands were pressing it into the worn cracks and grooves of a place old and weathered and forgotten by magic. The memory brings an itch of irritation, a puzzle she hadn’t solved.

Before she can dwell on it, she’s walking again, the thought scattered along with the snow she kicks up, carried away on the biting winter wind.

Large looming structures decorate the lawn beside her. Her eyes don’t seem to be working, not the way they are supposed to. The edges of her vision have an inky appearance, like a pen drawing submerged in water but she doesn’t feel worried.

From a place far away there is a high pitched chirping, rhythmic and annoying in its familiarity. There’s a feeling of smooth satin against her skin and she pulls the fabric tighter around her shoulders. She pushes herself away from that place. This land of snow is far more intriguing. And she’s about to do something _important_.

There’s something ice cold in her hand. She looks down to see a knife, beautifully decorated, with a long red handle.

A flash of panic warms her head to toe before the wind seeps the chill back into her bones.

At the end of the path is a structure lined with gold. Ancient cracks in the stone have been filled with the ore, blinding in their shiny newness. _The puzzle_ , she thinks. The half images she’s been getting are fully formed here. In this world of snow she’s finally solved it. The altar is whole and gleaming once more.

She stops again. That word alarms her. _Altar_. There’s connotations that drip off that word and chill more than the wind. 

With a frustrated grunt, her body moves again without permission. Because this isn’t her, not really. This is a sneak peek of a movie that might never come to pass.

The arch above her is dazzling, gleaming as the gold reflects off the snow. _Finally_ , she thinks. This is what she’s been working toward. This will make it all worth it. A whimper catches her attention and drags her gaze from the gold to the center of the altar.

A girl sits in the middle, crying. Her face is round with youth and her hair is singed on the ends. Iron bands encircle her small wrists. The bands block magic. For the first time, the bitter tang of fear coats Morgana’s tongue and stings acrid at the back of her throat.

 _Please_ , the girl says. _We had a deal._

Morgana feels her hand tighten on the blade and her stomach rolls as she realizes what’s about to happen, what this is, why she’s here.

The altar. The girl. The magic.

But it’s not _really_ her or she would stop. She would turn right around and take the girl with her and get her as far from this place as she can. Though her dreams grant her many things, agency has never been one one them. She is here solely to bear witness and carry the scars of this night behind her eyelids.

Against her power, she steps right up to the girl and feels her face twist into a smile. _Life gives way to magic_ , she whispers in voice like a caress and the girl sobs harder.

And then she strikes.

The screams are shrill, loud and painful in her ears, and it takes too many seconds to realize they are her own. She slaps her hand over her mouth to quiet herself.

She’s in her bedroom. Familiar bed sheets, comforter bunched at the foot of her bed because she always gets too hot at night, her annoying as hell phone alarm is ringing from where it’s plugged into a charger across the room. Through trial and error she learned she is more likely to leave the land of slumber if she actually has to get out of bed to turn it off.

She gasps in great lungfuls of air as she stumbles over to it. The cool of the floor does nothing to stop her shaking as she turns it off. 

What the _fuck_ was that dream?

It’s been a long time since she had a dream that…. _vivid_. One that slipped her right into the narrative so she could see first hand what was about to transpire. She hasn’t seen anything like this since the Emrys magic drained from her veins all those years ago.

A vision like that is a _warning_.

The dream means whoever is stealing gold is planning a magic ritual. A big one. One that needs gold to amplify the magic and life to power it.

Which is...bad. There isn’t really another explanation. She needs to get her hands on the Archives, read through the early Emrys accounts to see if they hint at anything like this. They likely won’t. Human Sacrifices are strictly forbidden. And the only ceremony Morgana knows about is the one that created Emrys.

Gaius might have an idea. But talking to Gaius means Merlin is sure to find out. The Mordred deadline will be here on Saturday and as far as she is aware Mordred isn’t anywhere to be found. But that won’t stop Merlin from looking. Morgana would have called off the search long ago. It’s a lost cause, the Ether. But Merlin isn’t like that. He’d get himself killed before admitting defeat.

This whole thing is getting too big. If Merlin had any idea what was happening he would lose it. The fact that Morgana has stumbled into a possible magic criminal complete with sacrificial rituals is certainly not what she had in mind when she offered to help. But she still wants to make Merlin’s life easier -- _better_ \-- and isn’t solving this the best way to do that?

Just a while longer, she decides, if she doesn’t learn anything by the passing of the Mordred deadline, she’ll tell him.

What’s a few more days?

\--

Mistakes come in one of two flavors: the inconsequential kind, the kind that doesn’t matter, the kind that you can step away from with nothing more than a Note-to-Self as a reminder you shouldn’t repeat them. There is also the grave kind, the kind that aren’t so much one mistake but a series of decisions. None of them seem right or wrong in the moment but when you end up looking back over the series of events you suddenly see how they stack. Precarious. Dominoes in a neat little row ready for the faintest brush of air to send them cascading down.

As Merlin watches Arthur lecturing at the front of a classroom, Merlin is struck with the realization that he has made a Grave Mistake.

And the mistake isn’t anything to do with Mordred, though his preoccupation with Mordred undoubtedly contributed to the mistake. His single-minded determination on figuring out a way to bring him back, the immobilizing fear at what will happen if he doesn’t. Failure has always been a rather debilitating experience for Merlin. But this failure, it might break him. 

They still have time, he stubbornly reminds himself. The _Hellhound_ will come through and Mordred is going to return with a scowl and a sarcastic comment and somehow that will make everything better.

His laptop starts flashing as the latest round of updates installs and he tears his eyes off Arthur. The mistake also isn’t his software which hasn’t appeared to mess up since Mordred’s disappearance. In fact, it seems like he might be making progress for the first time in months if Merlin and Freya’s preliminary tests on energy consumption are anything to go by. They might actually have a good way to track the formation of a portal by the end of next semester.

But the Grave Mistake isn’t any of that.

The mistake is _Arthur_.

Merlin thought he could keep Arthur a careful distance away the same as he does everyone else. He could shield the pieces of himself from Arthur’s unnaturally prying gaze. What he did not factor into his carefully thought out plan of solitude is the fact that Arthur was not doing the same.

Arthur hands over pieces of himself like it doesn’t cost him anything.

 _I used to love this band_ , he offered when he and Merlin grabbed coffee before heading out to do a quick sweep of the sensors last week.

While elbows deep in old and ancient stories Arthur caught sight of Merlin sketching out a potential rune and smiled and said, _god I wish I could draw. I don’t have any of Morgana’s skill, I’m shit at it._

When they stood beneath the stars just yesterday Arthur tipped his head up and revealed, _I used to want to be an astronaut until I found out math and I don’t get along._

Without doing a single act of investigating Merlin knows more about Arthur than he ever intended to: how he takes his coffee, his favorite order from the Persian take-out place, how he wishes he and Morgana were closer, the fact that he and his father have a rather tense relationship given the fact that Arthur never talks about him or says anything positive. More likely he talks about his mother, a woman who died when he was young but he always wears a soft smile when he discusses her.

And Merlin knows he is special. Arthur, as much as he jokes with Freya, has never confided in her the way he does Merlin.

Merlin watches from the back of the classroom as Arthur patiently answers questions, half the students hanging on his every word, Merlin himself paying far more attention than he needs to and that’s when the mistake hits him: Arthur has wedged himself right underneath Merlin’s skin.

And Merlin wants to keep him there.

He cares about this stupidly enthusiastic, insufferably optimistic, naively trusting _idiot_ talking about what the titular tempest symbolizes with more passion than Merlin has probably talked about anything.

And that’s...so fucking bad.

Merlin shakes his head and lets his eyes glaze over as he stares at his screen and tries not to panic.

Merlin is a ticking time bomb. He destroys anyone who gets too close to him in a most explosive fashion, bits of shrapnel wedge into their hearts until they can’t ever be healed, until they are just as broken as Merlin.

He shouldn’t even _be_ in this classroom right now. Arthur just mentioned in passing that he was going to cover another grad student’s lecture so he’d be missing usual workshop hours and Merlin said, _I could come with you_ , before he had even given himself permission.

But then Arthur was giving him a grin that was half surprised, half smug and Freya was looking at him like she knew far too much.

Merlin could only roll his eyes and say, _just so you don’t get viciously attacked by anything. It’ll be dark when the class finishes._ It was such a feeble excuse, he couldn’t even make it sound convincing.

Arthur’s grin was completely smug at that point. _Going to walk me home after?_

Then Freya said, _Merlin is quite the gentleman_. And Merlin told them both to fuck all the way off and stormed out as the two of them were laughing.

But he showed up here right on time anyway and Arthur didn’t even tease him. Just gave him a bright grin as he slunk to the back of the room.

Merlin is _so_ fucked.

“Is something wrong?”

A startled yelp escapes at Arthur’s voice suddenly right by his side. Arthur shoots him a shit-eating grin that makes Merlin grow uncomfortably warm. A feeling like lightning runs under his skin not dissimilar to the feeling of magic. Shit. Arthur is still grinning as he says, “I scared the terrifying Monster Hunter! Feel as if I deserve a prize.” 

The room has emptied and Arthur is sitting in the desk next to him with an expectant raise of his brows. Merlin rolls his eyes, desperately willing his blush to calm down. “Your prize is that I still tolerate your presence.”

Arthur beams and Merlin’s stomach gives a low swoop. Fuck. “Tolerate! Look at how far we’ve come from the open hostility you used to greet me with. Going at this rate, we might even be friends within the next five years.”

Merlin snorts. “Pretty sure we’ll both be graduated by then.”

“Maybe.” Arthur’s face falls and Merlin wishes he hadn’t said it. The post-graduation life seems like such a distant dream where he gets the fuck out of this school and never looks back but he’s pretty sure he’s not taking any of the people he has met with him. They will just be a disant relic of the past, trapped in his memory of Camelot. Arthur clears his throat and shoots him a smirk. “So what did you think?”

Merlin shrugs. “Only half your class was on facebook which is a pretty good ratio.”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “Merlin your age is showing. No one uses facebook anymore.”

“ _You_ are older than me.”

Arthur shrugs. “Barely, but I’m more hip.”

Merlin bites the inside of his lip so he doesn’t smile. “I’m pretty sure no one says ‘hip’ anymore either.”

Arthur nods. “Very true. We’ll have to ask Freya.”

When Arthur gets bubbly like this Merlin does his best to get away. Arthur’s mood is a bit infectious and it makes Merlin want to do stupid things. But he’s trapped himself tonight. “Come on. I promised to walk you home, didn’t I?”

Merlin walks Arthur home more often than not these days. He doesn’t know when that shifted. It started as an occasional thing when the Scanner was particularly active but now it’s almost every night. It’s quiet as they walk the familiar path toward Arthur’s apartment and Merlin can’t stop thinking about how comfortable it feels to have Arthur by his side, how gaping the absence feels when he’s not there, how there is connection between them that sparks when they look at each other for just a moment too long. 

Merlin really is an idiot. How on earth did he let it get this far?

A hand on his arms sends his pulse racing. He hadn’t been paying attention. They’re already out in front of Arthur’s building.

There’s a smirk that’s become familiar and damn near _endearing_ and _fuck_ Merlin is so stupid. “Thanks for walking me home. Freya’s right, you are quite the gentleman. Your suitors better appreciate your chivalry.”

Merlin rolls his eyes in an attempt to not draw attention to the way his heart is beating out an odd sort of rhythm. “If I get any I’ll let you know.”

Arthur is looking at him with his too intent eyes that seem to see right through all the cracks in the walls he’s built around himself. 

Arthur audibly swallows. “I have a confession…”

Merlin’s pulse is positively roaring, drowning out all noise until there is a buzzing in his ears. There’s a tingling in his limbs and a nervous flutter all the way in his gut. It’s a feeling that was a dull sensation just a few weeks ago but seems to get sharper and stronger the more time he spends with Arthur.

“Um,” Merlin croaks, voice suddenly gone. He tries to swallow but his throat is too dry and it seems to not be working. “Okay?” 

Arthur doesn’t just look nervous, he looks _afraid_ and Merlin’s nerves suddenly kick into overdrive. He’s not sure he’s ever seen Arthur well and truly scared. Being stupidly brave has become a trademark of Arthur’s character and Merlin doesn’t know what it means that he’s staring at Merlin with fear in his eyes.

And Merlin doesn’t want him to keep talking because if Arthur draws any sort of attention to the live wire that connects the two of them they will both be electrocuted and then it’s over. As long as Merlin doesn’t have any sort of confirmation from Arthur he can pretend it’s not real and keep Arthur by his side.

And more than the desire to keep Arthur from talking there is a desperate _need_ to hear what Arthur is going to say.

“I --” Arthur looks down at the ground and flicks his tongue out to wet his lips. Merlin feels his blood rush even faster as he tracks the movement before he can stop himself. He should step back. Put some space between them. He doesn’t. “I wasn’t totally honest with you when I first joined the Operation.”

As the words register they send a flood of ice into his veins and his nerves creep up even further. But it doesn’t totally chase away how warm he feels.

Merlin tries to swallow again. “You lied?” His voice cracks but he doesn’t have it in him to be embarrassed. Normally he’d be pissed, anger consuming him but the heat he feels is a different breed. The sort that makes his skin prickle, his heart thud. A feeling like lightning might strike him at any moment.

Arthur looks gutted. He opens his mouth and closes it and just stares at Merlin. “Yes. I --” Arthur runs a hand through his air making it stick up just a little and it is so at odds with his perfectly tailored appearance Merlin’s heart gives a little crack right in his chest. “I, um, didn’t just join because I was curious about monsters. It -- I -- I needed funding.”

Disappointment and embarrassment war for control as he lets out a long breath. Of course it isn’t….it isn’t about _feelings_. That’s ridiculous. Arthur wouldn’t -- and Merlin doesn’t _really_ either -- so there is no need for him to even entertain the possibility.

Merlin flashes Arthur an easy smile since he still looks nervous. “God Arthur, I thought you were going to confess something horrible.” That’s a lie. He thought he was going to confess something that Merlin secretly longs for but can never let himself have. Perhaps that is rather horrible. He clears his throat. “That isn’t so bad. It certainly makes more sense why you stuck around. Though I’m sorry to say if we get disbanded I won’t be able to help you out though Gaius might have a few ideas.” Arthur’s eyes are still watching him like he’s expecting an explosion. The fear slowly creeps back in. “Unless there’s something else?”

Arthur shakes his head and looks so disappointed Merlin _knows_ he’s lying. Arthur only ever wears that expression when he is upset with himself. 

“No, that’s it.” Arthur takes a step toward the door to his apartment building and Merlin has to resist the urge to follow. Merlin doesn’t know how to keep this conversation going, how to convince Arthur to talk about whatever it is that he’s hiding because Merlin wants to know -- _needs_ to know. He wants to travel back and live in the moment just before Arthur said anything when Merlin let himself brim with the foolish notion of hope. Arthur flashes a smile that could only be described as guilty. “Thanks for walking me home, Merlin.”

Merlin can only watch him go and feel like perhaps he doesn’t know Arthur as well as he thought.

\--

Gwen is a _good_ person.

She knows this. She prides herself on it….yet she can’t help but feel like maybe she is missing the mark on this one.

You can do bad things as long as you have a good reason for them, right?

She already convinced herself of that the day she decided to go through all of Elyan’s stuff, adrenaline coursing through her veins as she made her way around the room. Every creak of the old building had her muscles freezing over, a deer in headlights as she whipped around to stare into the hallway, ears poised to listen for the familiar sound of a key in a lock.

She hadn’t been found by Elyan and she hadn’t found anything exciting either.

She’s not sure what she was looking for, exactly. Maybe a medallion like the one Freya gave her that night she left the workshop. A trinket she has made sure is in full view of her brother numerous times to see if it caused any sort of reaction. It didn’t.

Gwen is feeling just a little ridiculous, sat in the passenger seat of Morgana’s car staring at the bar across the street. She’s not sure she’s cut out for the life of espionage.

“Should we go in?”

Morgana hits her with the same look she gave her the last time she asked. The bar is small and they’d be noticed for sure. If Elyan really is up to something suspicious then he’d be watching his back, paying attention to who is coming and going and he would definitely notice Gwen.

She can’t decide what the strangest part of the experience is. The fact that she was able to install the an app on Elyan’s phone without him noticing, the fact that she’s been virtually following his whereabouts for the past few days, the fact that tonight when he said he was going out for drinks after work she texted Morgana, the fact that Morgana immediately texted back and offered to stake out with her, the fact that Morgana brought _snacks_.

The snacks might be the weirdest part. The caramel corn is clearly homemade and Gwen cannot reconcile the image of the fierce woman in the seat next to her dressed like she belongs on the cover of some business magazine, with the idea that she eats candied popcorn and possibly makes it herself.

“If you think too loud he might hear you.”

Gwen’s not sure if she should be insulted but Morgana is smirking so she elects to take it as a joke. “I’ve never done this before.”

“Really?” The dry tone is dripping with sarcasm and Gwen rolls her eyes.

“I just can’t stop…. _worrying_.”

“Then worry about something else. That always works for me.” Morgana’s eyes are still on the parking lot before them. The single lamppost hardly illuminates her face but even in the dark Gwen can see the bags under her eyes.

The words hold an unexpected ring of truth. “Is that why you offered to help me? Tonight? So you could distract yourself?” Gwen can’t quite figure Morgana out. She runs seemingly hot and cold in equal sweeping measures with hardly anything to give warning to the latest mood swing.

It’s a long moment before Morgana sighs. “I didn’t exactly mean using _me_ to distract yourself.”

Gwen bites back a smile. A woman who doesn’t want to share any information about herself seems more in line with the picture she’s painted of Morgana. “Well the view is shit and I’m almost out of data for the month.”

Morgana finally looks over with a quirked brow. “Tell me about your childhood.”

Gwen snorts. “Why?”

“To distract yourself.”

“Then why don’t _you_ tell _me_ something about yourself.” Morgana presses her lips together and Gwen feels an odd sort of pride that she got this stoic woman to smile. “What was it like growing up with magic?”

She doesn’t expect Morgana to answer. She doesn’t share anything. Not unless she’s woozy from smoke fumes. So she’s very surprised when Morgana starts talking.

“I didn’t know it was magic. There’s not a secret organization of government officials who send you letters or anything.” She flashes Gwen a wry grin and Gwen can’t help but smile back. “I didn’t even know about the creatures until I came to Camelot, didn’t know what I was doing was magic. I would just get these _feelings_ , before something good was going to happen or something bad. I was really good at predicting the weather.” She quirks into a half smile. “My mom used to ask for her own personal report. I don’t know if she really understood I had magic but she trusted my gut more than the local weatherman. She taught me how to make the caramel corn actually.” Her face falls as she stares at the parking lot in front of them. “And then there were the dreams.”

“You can see the future?” There’s too much awe in Gwen’s voice even to her own ears.

Morgana swallows. “Not on command, though there are ways to focus your dreams but….I always see the worst things. It was never good news so I usually don’t try to see anything.”

A haunted expression flashes across Morgana’s face and Gwen feels something in her constrict. She can’t imagine what that’s like, to have information to change the future but an inability to reconcile that’s what it is. “Do they always come true?”

Morgana’s face goes even darker. “Let’s hope not.”

Gwen swallows. Morgana has clearly seen something awful, recently, that she doesn’t want to discuss. She tries to move the conversation back on easier ground. “What does it feel like?”

Morgana jumps a little, as if she forgot Gwen was there. She does that a lot. Gets lost in her own thoughts and loses track of the world around her. “The dreams?”

Gwen shrugs. “I guess just magic.”

Morgana’s face goes soft. “It’s like….there’s a light inside of you, right in the center of your chest. It’s always burning, a dull weak flame but then when you use your magic it roars to life and ignites you down to your bones.”

“It sounds beautiful.”

“It can be.”

The next batch of silence feels heavier.

“Thank you, for telling me,” Gwen says. “And thanks for being here.”

Morgana smirks. “I believe it’s your turn to share something deep and personal now.”

Gwen lets out a nervous laugh. “I don’t have magic.”

“Then tell me about your family.”

She feels like she owes Morgana something to prove that this relationship isn’t just Morgana laying herself bare, Gwen is capable of the same.

So she does. She talks about her father and how he works in construction but makes the most beautiful metalwork sculptures in his spare time. She talks about how he cries every Christmas when they watch _It’s a Wonderful Life_ and how sad he gets every year on her mother’s birthday. She talks about how similar he is to Elyan and the reason they butt heads so often while she was growing up. She talks about how he still lives in their little house right on the edge of Camelot and she visits him every other week with Elyan for a family dinner.

It doesn’t seem like Elyan is doing anything suspicious here, but Gwen finds she doesn’t mind. It doesn’t feel like the waste of time it should be as she talks about summers spent catching fireflies and exploring the creek behind their neighborhood and racing each other home on their bikes as the sun set.

Morgana looks nearly wistful when she finishes. “That sounds nice.”

“What was your family like?”

The next smile is sad and broken and Gwen wishes desperately she could help remove it from Morgana’s face. “Nothing like that.”

\--

The shadow Uther Pendragon casts is present whether or not the man himself is standing in his children’s light, though Arthur knows it follows each of them in different ways.

That shadow haunted Arthur. It followed him close and nipped at his heels, the chilling ice of its disappointment ready to sting his spine. When he was very young, he didn’t understand where that feeling came from. He blamed his own failures at his inability to meet his father’s expectations. It would take him a great many years to understand that he wasn’t solely to blame.

His parents divorced the year he was born. His father’s scandals were brought to light by Morgana’s mother. Now that he is older he realizes the power his mother had in that moment. Ygraine could have destroyed Uther Pendragon, tore him apart in court and taken all his money. But that wasn’t in his mother’s nature. She wanted Arthur, and the house, and security for Arthur’s future. Uther asked for summers for reasons Arthur still doesn’t understand and his mother acquiesced likely to avoid a nasty court experience for her son. All of Arthur’s earliest memories are incandescent; stories before bed and playing with his action figures with his mother joining in. There’s a love in those years that he hasn’t felt since.

When he was with his mother Uther’s shadow was gone, chased off by the light of his mother.

But that shadow began consuming him when he spent time with his father. That emptiness when he would visit his father in the summers and look for his approval. A smile was so rare it became a desperate sort of game to discover what might grant it. Sitting so still when his father had guests over that he may as well have been a statue got a nod of approval but crying when the stray kitten he found died got a derisive snort and a shake of the head.

When his mother died and he was with Uther all the time the shadow was _always_ there, over his shoulder, watching. Earning praise became near impossible and one mistake would take it right back. Straight A’s the first term meant nothing if he didn’t keep them. Scoring the winning goal didn’t matter if he wasn’t chosen for Captain.

The shadow taught him it wasn’t enough to be _good_ , Arthur needed to be the best, needed to excel so thoroughly that it wasn’t even a competition.

And the thing about his father’s shadow is that even though he cut all contact with him and doesn’t want his approval anymore, he can still feel the ghost of that silhouette. Of what it was like to have every decision he made second guessed by fear of what his father might think.

He can feel the shadow now in the Rising Sun and stares at the latest edits on his dissertation. This should be one of the last rounds of edits. He’s done with research and ready to consolidate arguments and tear it apart for grammatical errors and inconsistencies and then next semester he needs to get his presentation ready so he can defend. He’s so close to finishing school with his doctorate and moving on to bigger and better things but the motivation isn’t quite there, not like it used to be.

The shadow chills him with its judgement like gaze.

An actual shadow passes over him and he looks up at the scowling face of one Merlin Emerson.

Arthur flashes him a winning smile anyway. “Put salt in your coffee again?”

Merlin glares as he pulls out the chair across from Arthur. “No. And last time that happened you were the one who switched the labels in the workshop.” Arthur tries not to thrum at his proximity, the familiarity. It’s a new development in their relationship, Merlin willingly acknowledging Arthur’s presence in public, Merlin seeking out Arthur just as Arthur seeks him out, and he doesn’t want to do anything to take it away.

“Then why do you look like you’re ready to yell at me?”

Merlin scoffs. “Because at any given moment you deserve it. Keeps your ego in check.” Arthur rolls his eyes but when he looks back Merlin has a smile tugging at his lips.

Merlin’s expression sours again as he stares at the table. He’s in the same ratty clothes as always but it looks so artfully disheveled Arthur can’t help but be a little jealous. He knows he is attractive but he is firmly in the “well dressed and put together” category. And he has to work at it. He looks this way on purpose. Merlin clearly rolls out of bed in the morning and whatever he looks like is how it’s going to be. So it is _unfair_ that someone who puts in virtually no effort looks so beautiful.

When Merlin looks up at Arthur he’s pouting and he suddenly looks so adorable Arthur can’t even stop his smile. “Gaius is making me go to some fundraiser,” Merlin grumbles.

Arthur grins wider. “For the Art School?” Merlin nods. “Why?”

Merlin crosses his arms and pouts more. “He’s under the impression that the only reason the president hates me is because he only knows me as _Emrys_ and Gaius thinks if he sees me being social and civil with other members of the faculty he might warm up.” It’s a fool’s errand but Arthur has to admire Gaius’ determination. And Arthur imagines the fact that it falls on the day Merlin will likely throw himself into the Ether if Mordred doesn’t make an appearance is not a coincidence.

“I would certainly pay to see that. It’s got to be an Oscar worthy performance you’re planning. I’ve never seen you be civil to anyone.”

Merlin presses his lips together in an expression Arthur knows means he is fighting a smile and Arthur’s heart soars. Merlin is so careful about letting himself be amused Arthur knows he is one of the few who can get him to slip. It’s probably part of the reason Merlin lets him stick around.

“Idiot,” Merlin mutters. “Unfortunately I’m Gaius’ ‘plus one’ so I can’t get you tickets to see the show.”

Arthur leans forward with a grin. “You’d let me be your date?”

Merlin’s eyes widen in alarm and his cheeks turn a bright pink color. An embarrassed Merlin is almost better than the happy one in that he so rarely shows enough vulnerability to let this expression happen. “Only if I was really desperate,” Merlin scoffs.

“You mean if Gaius was busy?”

Merlin shakes his head and mutters, “fuck off,” but he’s smiling again.

Arthur leans back with a smug smile. “Lucky for you, I’ll already be there.”

Merlin gives a dramatic eye roll. “My one night off and _you’ll_ be there.”

“So will Morgana,” Arthur assures him, “it’s her department. Should I bring Freya so the whole gang is together?”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“You love it.”

Merlin falls silent and just looks at him. The same way he did when he walked him home the other day. In a way that makes Arthur’s skin feel too tight and like he might burst out of it. In a way that makes Arthur desperately want to tell him the _truth_ so he doesn’t lose him. And he should say it. Right now. He chickened out the other night but there is an opportunity to say it now but he can’t get his mouth to work.

Then Merlin gives him a slow small smile that makes Arthur’s blood rush hotter all while shame curls in his gut.

“So….I’ll see you there?”

“Yeah,” Arthur says, letting the conversation drop like the coward he is. Maybe he doesn’t even deserve Merlin’s trust and when it inevitably falls apart at least he’ll only have himself to blame. Merlin is studying him with a concerned expression so he changes the subject. “Have you heard from Morgana recently?”

Merlin scowls and crosses his arms. “No. I’m starting to think she’s not actually helping Morgause. Either that or she may have joined forces with her.” He seems to shudder at the idea. “Have you?”

Arthur shakes his head. “I texted her about the fire in her building and she brushed it off like it wasn’t a big deal.”

Merlin’s expression goes dark. “She’s hiding something.”

Arthur sighs. “Probably.”

“She always does this, she --” he stops and shakes his head. “She is so stubborn and thinks she can just do everything herself.” Arthur resists the urge to point out that Merlin has been guilty of this very thing himself. It doesn’t feel like the time. “She better not be doing anything stupid.”

“It’s Morgana,” Arthur says, “she’s a lot of things but stupid isn’t one of them.”

Merlin hits him with a disdainful look. “Let’s hope you’re right.”

\--

Morgana feels like she might be making a stupid decision. But she needs some semblance of control. She doesn't know who attacked her as they haven't made an appearance since. She doesn't know anything about her dream because she can't waltz into the workshop to steal the Archives she needs. She can't figure out a good way to confront Morgause to see if she's stringing Morgana along to distract her. She couldn't even help Gwen catch her brother and instead ate popcorn in her car while they talked about their hopes and dreams and fears like some sort of b-rated coming of age film.

At least with this, she knows she just might win.

The assistant squawks in annoyance when Morgana stalks past. “You can’t go in there! You need an appointment!”

She shoots him a raised brow. “I’m sure he’ll make an exception.”

She throws open the doors to see her father polishing a sword on his desk. It would be a decent intimidation tactic if he had known she was coming.

The last time Morgana spoke to her father was when she threatened him into leaving Arthur alone. And the time before that she slightly abused her godlike powers to strike fear into his heart.

What’s once more?

She hums as she shuts the door behind her. “Busy as always I see.”

Her father smiles, soft and slow as if they do this every week. Uther Pendragon is never one to be caught unaware and if he is, he does his level best to pretend that isn’t the case. _Life is about appearances_ , _Morgana_ , he’d tell her. _If you act like you’ve already won, your opponent will feel defeated_. 

“Morgana. Please sit.”

She doesn’t want to give him any leverage, any room to think he has anything on her but she has _got_ to ask. “What’s with the sword?”

Her father shrugs. “It was a gift.” With a fair amount of effort, he heaves it off the table and fastens it to his wall, the only bit of decor in the entire office. Some gift. “I imagine this isn’t a social call.” It’s the only acknowledgement he’ll give that this isn’t planned even though it’s just the two of them. Because _she’s_ the opponent, just as he is hers.

“Why are you trying to get rid of the Emrys Project?”

Uther raises his eyebrows and she grinds her teeth in annoyance. He is not nearly the actor he thinks he is. “I’m shocked you know about it.”

Morgana leans forward and she sees him flinch, his eyes flickering over his shoulder to where the sword rests on the wall. Coward. “Seeing as you’ve taken such an interest in it, I imagine the very first thing you did was look up all the scholarship recipients. And dim though you are, you must have pieced together the reason I was able to shatter all the glass in your living room with nothing but a snap of my fingers.”

Loathe as he would be to admit it, her father flinches at her words. It is her turn to smile.

She’d have given _anything_ to get a glimpse of this scene when she was younger. Of the man she so feared being scared of _her_. She hated those summers with her father and the half-brother she felt a responsibility for but no idea what to do with it. She didn’t know how to save him from Uther and his criticism and his bleak world view. She barely managed to tread water when she was there.

Looking back, she still doesn’t know how Uther managed it. How he managed to get both her _and_ Arthur to vie for his affection even though he never gave them any in return. And then there was a desperation to the way they each craved his praise, though it was rarely given.

 _Because you were a child who wanted a father_ , a small voice reminds her.

Well, she doesn’t need anyone now.

She leans forward. “Is that why you want to shut it down? Because I was in it?”

Uther tsks, an expression she saw many times growing up. “So conceited.”

“So we know I inherited something from you.”

Her father’s nostrils flare and she smirks. It’s so easy to stoke that Pendragon anger and though Uther tries to keep his composure she knows she can needle him like no one else. She learned from the best.

Uther narrows his eyes. “Emrys’ presence on campus is the reason there are so many supernatural entities. If we remove Emrys, we remove the danger.”

Morgana makes a show of rolling her eyes, something Uther _hated_ when she was younger. “That is the _stupidest_ thing I have ever heard. You do know that the supernatural entities were here before Emrys right? And one day when this whole planet turns to ruin, the creatures will be here after. Without Emrys, there is no one keeping everyone else safe.”

Uther doesn’t change his expression, just remains as impassive as stone. “It is dangerous for someone to have that much power.” 

There it is, the _real_ reason he is doing this. He’s threatened. She feels an uncomfortable knot in her stomach at the idea that she’s the reason he feels so threatened by the Operation. “The only way they can control the Ether is to have that power.”

Her father merely shrugs. “You aren’t going to change my mind.”

Morgana narrows her eyes. “The board is never going to approve it.” They won’t. Half of them have had their lives saved by Emrys and a handful of others _were_ Emrys. Hang around Camelot long enough and you’re bound to have a run in. It’s the school’s worst kept secret.

Uther gives a snarling smile. “You’d be surprised how easily persuaded people can be.”

Morgana sits back with a thud. “You bribed them.” Of course he did and of course they fucking took it. Money corrupts worse than power ever could. “So no matter what Emrys does, you’re going to axe the program?”

It feels like she’s a teenager again. Sitting across from him at his stupidly large dinner table, fighting about politics or his stringent house rules or what a bad parent she found him to be with him twisting his words so she couldn’t properly argue. Uther Pendragon never really wins. He just cheats.

Uther shrugs. “I might be persuaded.”

She swallows loudly, suspicion creeping down her spine. “How?”

He grins. “I want a favor.”

A deal with the devil. She can’t quite stop the sobbing girl from her dream flashing before her eyes.

Against her better judgement she says, “what do you want?”

\--

Though it is hardly 9:00 pm on a Saturday the night is nearly pitch black as Gwen makes her way down the empty streets of Camelot. Camelot is not a lively sort of city at the best of times, certainly not just before the onset of winter. It once was if the stories her grandma told her are to be believed. Then about forty years ago the factories started shutting down and took all the jobs and now it looks more like ghost city, the glimmering edges of something that was once sparkling dull in the sun and ominous in the night.

There’s a screeching noise a few blocks over and Gwen stops in her tracks as the hairs on the back of her neck go upright.

She is alone because Morgana had a previous engagement on campus.

_Working late, can you get a ride?_

Something like intuition turned in her gut as she read the message so set out on her own. Now she is afraid and she is _never_ going to be impulsive again.

The wind stings Gwen’s face as she pulls her coat tighter around her, full of regret, feeling a bit like an idiot, and wondering if she has taken things too far.

She shouldn’t have done this alone. But the other night had been a huge waste of time, Elyan really was hanging out with friends. Or….it wasn’t _really_ a waste of time because Gwen had actually enjoyed hanging out in Morgana’s car and listening to the brief stories she chose to share of summers with a father she didn’t really care for and all the ridiculous things her and Arthur got up to when they were very young. About how her mother was a bit of a free spirit and let Morgana pursue whatever she was in the mood for as long as she was following something she enjoyed. She heard about late nights in Morgana’s mother’s apartment, the woman also an artist and Morgana would sit and watch her and think to herself “one day that’s going to be me.”

Gwen finds she really enjoys her time with Morgana and she _almost_ wishes Elyan was out more often to give them an excuse to spend more time together. Then her wish came _true_ only Morgana was busy, so here she is.

This is what being impulsive really feels like. Being cold and feeling ridiculous and wondering if you are making a huge mistake. It is unlikely that she will be making any impulsive decisions again any time soon. But she has to _know_.

The screeching sounds again, higher and closer, and Gwen picks up her pace.

According to the app, Elyan should be just around the corner but all Gwen sees is a dark and creepy alley.

What would Morgana say if she was here? _Why would we come all this way just to stop here?_

There’s only a moment of indecision before she’s heading down the alley. It occurs to Gwen that perhaps Morgana is not the best voice of reason seeing as she got herself lit on fire but she’ll worry about that later.

The alley is dark and empty, not a single street light on. It turns between buildings and she’s met with a dead end. Against the brick wall is a trash can that seems to have a fire going inside it. No one appears to be around though.

“Hello?”

After she says it, she knows it’s stupid. To make noise, to draw attention to herself. Apparently being impulsive also makes you foolish.

The screeching from before positively roars now. With her heart in her throat Gwen looks up to see a huge winged creature barreling straight toward her, talons first.

Panic bursts through her veins and she nearly collapses under the fear until her muscles kick into action without any input from her brain. Gwen takes off at a sprint back toward the way she came. She’s going to die. She’s going to die because she was nosy and impulsive and instead of just talking to her brother she decided to spy on him and it led her to this fearsome creature.

The scream is louder, closer now, and she feels something like rubber brush her back and she bites back a scream. She ducks and feels it pass over her before it lands in front of her, blocking her exit. She swallows past another wave of panic.

The creature is terrifying. It’s huge, black as the creature she saw with Arthur though far more catlike, like a lioness. Wings sprout from its bag and block the rest of the alley.

Her hand inadvertently goes to her neck only for her to realize the charm isn’t there. She forgot to put it on. And she doesn’t have her pepper spray handy. She’s out of options. A small whimper escapes before she can catch it and the creature seems to _smile_.

Why hadn’t she gone with Arthur to learn all she could about this world? So she might know what this thing is and how to fight it?

“Please,” she whispers, not sure if she’s talking to the creature or the universe.

The creature lunges and Gwen throws her hands over her head, bracing for the impact but it never comes. There is a series of BANGS so loud they make her ears ring and she crouches down low as she waits out the explosions.

When she looks up the creature is lying on the ground, oozing black liquid of some sort and at the end of the alley stands a man, with a gun in his hand and his jaw dropped to the floor.

“Elyan?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Next Chapter Features: The Return of Mordred.
> 
> Comments and kudos are the best :)


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, hello, once again so sorry for the huge wait between chapters. I wanted to get majority of the next three chapters written before posting since all of them take place on a narrow time frame. So hopefully the next one will be edited sooner!

Monster hunting is a family business, or at least it was in the Martin Family. Isolde’s earliest memories are full of lessons: learning the mysteries of the world, training your eyes to see impossible things, and, most importantly, how to catch those things and get rid of them for good.

The tradition passed down each generation, from parent to child even as her ancestors moved away from this city and took their skills and knowledge with them. Monster hunting was a family affair.

And it stayed a family affair when she rescued Tristan, shooting wildly at a _harpy_ he couldn’t even see as he ran through the warehouse district. The _harpy_ wouldn’t have bothered him but you can’t explain that to people who can’t even see it. The fact that his instincts were telling him something dangerous and impossible was hot on his heels was enough to let Isolde know he had the intuition, as her grandma would say, _intuition is a talent like anything else. You can teach it but it’s far easier to be born with it_. 

There was something about Tristan. The way he watched her as she sent the _harpy_ flying. The way he didn’t cower in fear as she approached him. The fact that the first words out of his mouth weren’t a ‘thank you’ but rather a demand for an explanation. _You come work for me and I’ll answer any question you have_ , she said with a smile. Tristan always said that was the moment he fell in love. Right behind an industrial warehouse, Isolde lit up in a spotlight like the world of shadows was her own personal theater production. It would take Isolde a little longer, a slower glide from curious to intrigued to desire to love, the meter ticking over from one thing to the next so gently she didn’t realize how far it had gone until she woke up one day and realized she was fucked.

She and Tristan kept the monster hunting tradition alive and turned it into their own family business. For whatever reason Isolde stumbles across lost causes just like she did with Tristan that night. They are drawn to her like a moth to a flame. Tristan used to say she had a bad habit of collecting strays. But there’s something about someone down on their luck that she can’t get herself to turn her back on them.

Gwaine came first, working as an independent contract bounty hunter, all passion no skill. After the third time he managed to step right on her toes as she was working a case, getting the jump on the kill _just_ before she could, flashing her his trademark grin, she invited him to join. Easier to keep an eye on the competition if they aren’t competition at all. He had a natural talent and if she could show him what he could do with that talent he might manage to not get himself killed. Under Isolde’s guidance he’s only really slipped up once but that was as much Morgana’s fault as it was his, even if the other woman won’t admit it.

Gwaine was wary, justifiably so as he’d been burned before, but he fit into their team almost seamlessly. Gwaine’s jokes were always a touch over the line or proper etiquette and made Isolde bend at the waist laughing. She’d see Tristan biting his cheeks so he didn’t look too amused. But she knew he liked Gwaine as much as she did or he wouldn’t have let him stick around. She didn’t fail to notice the way Gwaine would light up when either of them gave him praise, she imagined his own parents hadn’t offered it too much.

The next person to stumble into their team was Percival who came seeking actual employment and offered to work for housing. She didn’t even need to look over at Tristan to know he was already going to prepare their spare room for him.

So she trained them, taught them the same skills her own family taught her and together they worked to rid this city of the beasts that plague it. Their job was more important than anything.

Except family.

With a heavy sigh she jumps out of the bed of her truck with her can of kerosene and tells Percival and Gwaine to get the beast. They need to burn it before the stench starts attracting other monsters. As they pass Elyan she whispers, “you’ve got five minutes.” Family might come first but they are still on a time limit. Monsters don’t play by their rules.

The woman in the alley hasn’t taken her eyes from Elyan and Isolde winces in sympathy. It must be quite the shock for her to learn the truth of this world.

“What the fuck, Elyan?” she snarls.

Gwaine and Percival shoot Isolde a surprised look, having clocked the other woman as seemingly shy just like Isodle had. Perhaps this girl knows more than most. Isolde motions for the other two men to get on with it. They’ve got a busy night ahead of them if they are going to kill all three _bastets_ that have been spotted. They can eavesdrop when they finish their job.

Isolde leans against the wall and watches as her team works to burn the beast’s body. Sorcerers just send them on their way, back where they came from but it isn’t an option for people without magic. Though in Isolde’s opinion, her way is more effective. If you get rid of it completely there’s no chance it’s going to come back to hurt anyone else. This philosophy is just one component of the wedge that creates the rift between her and those who serve as Emrys.

Elyan looks more shocked than the other woman as he stumbles over to her, arms raised as if he’s unsure whether to check her for injuries or protect himself from attack. “Gwen, what -- are you -- you know about -- has this happened -- you’re fine?”

Isolde presses her lips together so she doesn’t change her expression. Despite working for her for the past few years, Elyan still trips over his words too much to talk to any of the clients. Gwaine, for all his flirting, is much better at it. Elyan more than makes up for it when he’s in the field. He’s an excellent shot.

Elyan might not find the words but the woman, probably his sister, seems to have no trouble. “You’re a _bounty hunter_?” She sneers on the phrase and Isolde clenches her fist. It sounds as if the _Sorcerers_ have gotten to her first.

“You know about bounty hunters?” Elyan sounds shaken, as shaken as he was the night Isolde caught him breaking into their building.

Gwen shakes her head and looks angry enough that she might start steaming. “You lied! All this time….you’ve been doing this and you didn’t even tell me and….are you even an accountant?” Whatever Elyan’s face does in response to the question doesn’t do a thing to calm his sister down. “I can’t believe you! God, you could have --”

“Gwen please. Let me --” he looks over at Isolde who just shrugs. She never kept any secrets from her family because they were all in on it. She’s not sure what she would have done if that wasn’t the case.

Although she supposes she does know, doesn’t she? She met Tristan and she didn’t have to show him this world but she _did_ because there was no place either of them wanted to be other than right by the other’s side.

There’s the same sort of hollowness that aches in the center of her chest when she thinks of her late husband. She likens it to a wound, wide and gaping the edges jagged and inflamed. It’s always pulsing but when she spends too much time thinking about him it really starts to throb. She’s not sure it’s ever going to go away. Not sure she wants it to.

The trashcan nearly explodes as the creature is dropped in and Elyan’s sister lets out a squeak. In the distance, another creature responds with a scream, as if it knows its brethren has been burned from existence. Monsters won’t wait for this family reunion to play out. She turns to the siblings. “As much as I love a dramatic confrontation, what do you two say about working this out in the truck? Promise you can fight as much as you want on the way.” She tries for a charming smile but going by Gwaine’s choked off laugh, she might miss the mark.

The woman gives her a wary look. “On the way where?”

Gwaine comes up, wraps an arm around Elyan’s sister despite Isolde’s pointed glare in his direction, and gives her a wicked grin. “To kill monsters.”

\--

The worst part of formal events in academia are that they are just as boring as they sound.

Morgana stands against the side wall of the large atrium, partially hidden behind a huge potted plant, looking out at everyone mingling, dressed up in suits and dresses, colors as muted as the black dress she wears herself, the distant lilting tune of classical music being pumped through the speakers drowned by the clinking of glasses and bright cheery burst of probably fake laughter. There are plenty of people she recognizes. Her advisor from her graduate studies is studying a canvas not too far from where she hides and she pushes herself further back against the wall. Dr. Muirden is chatting with a few students and members of his department in the corner and panic pierces her for one minute until she is sure none of them are Freya or Merlin. Bayard is giving a particularly bellowing laugh at whatever joke the slightly terrified graduate student just told him. The student probably wouldn’t be as intimidated if they had been there the night she saved Bayard from a tiny _gremlin_ that was chasing him around his car. She can’t even be bothered to browse the artwork on display, standing tall between the sea of bodies. She feels too hollowed out, too high strung. The stakes are too high right now for any sort of pretense.

It doesn’t help that she had a wonderful alternative to this affair and could instead be spending her evening with Gwen. Though getting any closer to Gwen seems like a dangerous idea as well. Morgana doesn’t need anyone, doesn’t _want_ to need anyone. Gwen can’t be any different than anyone else.

“If your plan is to ignore me on the assumption I will leave you alone, you are sorely mistaken.”

Morgana lets out a long breath before turning to face someone she was certainly not expecting to see. “Morgause. Not sure a leather jacket quite constitutes formal attire.”

A grimace. “Morgana. I think that depends how you wear it.” The other woman’s eyes narrow to slits. “You never finished your job.” An accusation. An accurate one but Morgana never responds well to accusatory tones.

“Something came up.” She needs to play the disinterested card. To ignore this woman until she goes away because she doesn’t trust her. There are too many convenient details Morgause has left out to be only a coincidence. But she doesn’t want Morgause to know she suspects her so she needs to say _something_. “What are you doing here?”

Morgause tosses her hair over her shoulder and sticks up her nose. “I was invited.”

“I thought you were banned from school grounds?” 

That bit was Morgana’s doing. She went to the previous president and convinced him to forbid bounty hunters from milling about campus. She hadn’t been targeting Morgause directly, she made the suggestion after Gwaine shot her. If bounty hunters couldn’t distinguish between Sorcerers and supernatural creatures the general student population didn’t stand a chance.

Morgause gives a smile. “The new president lifted the restriction.”

Morgana rolls her eyes. “Of course he did.”

“Why hasn’t Emrys put up my wards?” There’s that tone again, the accusatory one, the one that makes Morgana want to fight and ignites the storm always brewing in her gut.

Morgana turns to the other woman with a glare. “Why didn’t _you_ tell me about all the other shit going missing around the city?” For just one moment shock completely morphs Morgause’s face before she can school her expression but it’s enough to confirm Morgana’s suspicions. She leans closer, lowering her voice despite the fact that no one is close enough to them to overhear. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were intentionally keeping me in the dark.”

Morgause’s nostrils flare. “My job isn’t to save this whole fucking city. That’s _your_ job. I work for the highest bidder.”

“You didn’t think there was any coincidence between the uptick in crime and your little case?”

“What does it matter?” Morgause hisses. She looks just as pissed as Morgana feels. “I wasn’t paid to solve a big mystery. I was paid to stop the museum from being robbed. If everyone else wants to pay me, I’d be more than happy to assist them too.”

Morgana gives her a look of disgust before surveying the room again. “Your greed knows no bounds.”

Morgause laughs. “Don’t get self righteous on me. This school used you and exploited your magic and you played the game so they could get what you wanted and they could do the same with your protege and everyone else. How is that any worse than what I’m doing? We’re both playing someone else’s game to get by.”

A surge of anger licks fast and violent up Morgana’s spine. She turns back to Morgause and snarls, “except my game doesn’t come at the cost of innocent lives.”

The bounty hunter gives a slow smile, one of pity and contempt and the storm within Morgana flares brighter. “Are you sure about that?”

She turns on her heel before Morgana can respond.

Morgana takes a few steadying breaths so she doesn’t _explode_. She can’t afford to accidentally use magic like that. It would make her too weak for what she needs to do tonight. This is how it was back when Morgana was Emrys. Morguase would make some comment that would set her to boiling, make her want to lash out and silence the other woman. Because as rude and unfounded as a lot of Morgause’s declarations are, a fair few of them hold an uncomfortable ring of truth. Those are the ones that make Morgana react so viciously. Morgana hates to be wrong.

And Morgause is right. This program, noble as the early intentions may be, has twisted through the years. It isn’t really a volunteer situation anymore. They can’t _get_ any volunteers. It’s a bribe. You get a free ride and all you have to do is slightly risk your life to kill some creatures. It’s a shitty deal that always preys on desperate people. Morgana was desperate in other ways, desperate to prove her magic was good for something, desperate to be well and truly special. And she passed the reins over to Merlin knowing full well how it would break him. She left him to weather the storm alone. Left him drowning because when he came to her she pushed him right back in.

Can she ever really atone for that?

Across the room her father comes in wearing a bright smile, shaking hands like he’s campaigning, and nausea boils in Morgana’s gut as she pushes herself off the wall, the real purpose for this evening arriving at last. She’s got to start atoning somewhere and it may as well be here.

\--

“Arthur’s gonna love it.”

Merlin whips around to shoot Freya a glare. She just smiles bigger. He huffs in annoyance as turns back to look at himself in the bathroom mirror, feeling uncomfortably restricted in his suit. “Aren’t you supposed to be downstairs?”

The two of them spent the afternoon sending off various spells and pulses of magic to see if they could start quantifying energy readings. He brought his clothes for the evening with him so he could change in the apartment above the workshop. Freya is _supposed_ to be watching the Scanner.

“Nothing was happening! And I still think we should rig it so it sends us text messages when it spots something. Then no one has to be stationed there.”

Merlin shoots a disdainful look at her reflection in the mirror as he finishes adjusting his tie. “And how is that working out for you?”

“Real bad. But I think I know what project I’m going to work on while I’m stuck here for Christmas break.”

“Sorry.”

She shakes her head from her perch against the doorway. “It’s not your fault the Emrys magic doesn’t let us leave Camelot.” She shrugs. “Just another part of the job. Plus, I think my younger brother is going to come up and visit so it’s not like I’ll be alone for Christmas. He’s real excited to see the workshop and ‘actual’ magic as he calls it. Rude little shit. He says the stuff I would do back home isn’t as cool because _he_ can’t see it, can you believe that?”

Merlin stopped listening to Freya about halfway through her monologue. Maybe it’s not entirely his fault but he’s the reason Freya isn’t going home. He let her swear her allegiance to him, let her train under him so she can prove her ability to grapple and harness the Emrys magic, let her start a program that will force her to prove her worthiness before they will attempt to return to that stupid fucking symbolic island and see if the magic is even willing to give Merlin up. The fact of the matter is if Merlin was a better teacher then Mordred may have passed and Freya might not have to be an apprentice and --

A sharp electric shock hits his neck. “Ow.”

“Stop that.”

He turns around to glare at her. “Did you just zap me with magic?”

Freya crosses her arms. “You were going into your blame spiral.” Merlin raises his eyebrows and Freya impatiently waves a hand. “Whenever you do your aura gets all moody and sad and makes me start feeling like all the problems of the world are my fault. They aren’t. And they aren’t your fault either.”

Merlin would disagree but he lets the subject drop for now. He remembers her initial comment and glares again. “And I’m not dressing up for Arthur. Gaius is making me.”

Freya shrugs. “Still, I bet Arthur is going to think you’re hot.”

“Freya!” To Merlin’s supreme embarrassment he’s _blushing_. “That’s so _weird_.”

She laughs. “Why?”

“I’m your mentor which makes me,” he gestures vaguely as he tries to come up with the right expression, “practically your brother or dad or something.”

She grins wider. “So it would definitely make you uncomfortable if I told you I thought Morgana was hot?”

“Yes!” Merlin hisses as Freya doubles over laughing. “She’s your _grand_ -Emrys.” That just makes Freya laugh harder. Merlin rolls his eyes and fights a smile at her antics. “I don’t know why I put up with you.”

“Because apparently I’m your daughter.” She wrinkles her nose at the word.

“Maybe that is an odd comparison,” he concedes.

She taps her chin thoughtfully. “You know, rumor has it there’s actually a word for platonic relationships that result in close emotional intimacy. I think it’s called ‘friendship.’”

“Never been good at that.”

“You never had me before.”

Freya has this habit of dropping wisdom right when Merlin needs it most. He knows it’s likely her magic, giving her life experience far beyond her actual years but it suits her.

He offers her a smile. “I guess you’re right.”

She gives him a little grin, practically preening at the fact he told her she was ‘right.’ “Go try and have fun. Even if you don’t want to impress Arthur -- _which I know you do!_ \-- go talk to people. You don’t have to be Emrys all the time. Just be Merlin. That’s what Gaius wants you to do, right? Show people you aren’t just a scary brooding monster slayer, but that you are actually a _person_.”

He sighs. “Fine.”

She beams. “Good.”

As she turns to leave he yells after her, “and I don’t want to impress Arthur!”

“Whatever you have to tell yourself, Merlin!”

\--

Arthur politely excuses himself from conversation to nudge his way through the crowd to find his sister.

Morgana is brooding. There isn’t another way to describe it. She hadn’t even _noticed_ Arthur which is alarming because Morgana fancies herself a spy mastermind but she wasn’t even pretending to engage in the party. The bags under her eyes were evident from where he stood. He should have checked on her sooner, reached out to her even if she was pushing him away. That’s what siblings do and it was shitty of him not to try harder.

He has to make his way around a huge display with a canvas taller than he is and when he emerges on the other side he’s lost sight of her. He doesn’t even really understand what this event is for, if they are raising money for a charity or the school itself or something else entirely. He just owed Dr. Caerleon a favor since he has essentially been ghosting her for the past few weeks. Now he can’t find Morgana and he hasn’t seen any sign of Merlin though his eyes have been practically glued to the door. Not that he would admit that.

“Hi Arthur!”

Arthur does his best to not jump out of his skin and plasters on a cheery smile and make nice with the person who just appeared beside him. Normally events like this don’t bother him, not because he is particularly gregarious but because he’s used to it. He can play the game and put on a face and make nice with a bunch of strangers.

He can feel his smile freeze on his face as he sees the girl from the other night. “Hello Kara,” he says slowly, “how have you been?”

From what Merlin said it was very unusual that victims ever sought them out again, being too afraid of the world to want to see it again. But Kara is smiling like everything is perfectly normal. “Great!” She looks around and then leans forward conspiratorially. “I’ve even started magic lessons.”

Arthur gives a more genuine smile. “That’s really good to hear.” She reminds him a bit of Freya with her enthusiasm. Gone is the surly and terrified girl from the evening and in her place is a much happier person. Is this what happens when you finally have an explanation for all the strange things you’ve been experiencing? One of the gifts knowledge grants might be peace of mind.

“Just wanted to say ‘hi.’ Also if you’re ever recruiting more members,” she gives a timid smile, “I’d be happy to try out.”

“I’ll let you know.” Though Arthur is pretty sure Merlin would rather burn this school to the ground than let anyone else join the Operation. “Now I actually need to --”

Her eyes widen and she blushes. “I’m sorry, of course, I didn’t mean to bother you. Enjoy the party!”

“Thank you, you too, I --”

The words freeze and lock in his throat as he turns to see his sister, arms wrapped tight around her chest as if physically holding herself together, tension in every line of her body as she speaks to a man looming over her. Their father gives her a very familiar smile, poised and practiced and as inauthentic as Arthur has ever seen before patting her shoulder and turning away, heading across the room. Arthur’s blood rushes to his ears and the swelling noise of the party around him vanishes but he can’t take his eyes off Morgana who looks so small and young and broken and Arthur is moving as fast as he can manage. He thinks he can hear Kara saying his name but all his focus is on Morgana.

“What are you doing?” he hisses. They both agreed it’s far more beneficial to the both of them if they pretend Uther doesn’t exist. A conversation with their father leads to nothing but mind games and feelings of worthlessness.

Her eyes are huge and bloodshot as she looks at him. “What are _you_ doing?” she hisses back. The bags are more apparent up close and Arthur feels like the worst person for not seeking her out sooner. What has Morgana been dealing with? “Why are you even here?”

Arthur crosses his arms. “I go to annoying things all the time. Why are you talking to our father?” his voice drops to an angry whisper on the last word. The last thing he needs is for the entirety of campus to know he’s related to Uther Pendragon.

Morgana gives him a smile that breaks his heart. It’s desperate and resigned and so _sad_. “I fixed it. The program. Uther isn’t going to bother the Emrys Project anymore and you can get your scholarship and Merlin and Freya can keep working and everything is going to be just _fine_.” She reaches out and gives his hand an almost painful squeeze.

His stomach drops at her words. “What did you do?”

She shakes her head. “It’s not important but you need to go.” She starts pushing at his arm. “Just -- just stay away from me for the rest of the night. I’ll explain after.” Her eyes catch on someone over her shoulder and her face falls. “ _Fuck_.”

Arthur turns to find their father coming toward them, Bayard and a few other Deans of the university in tow. He clenches his fists and breathes out long and slow through his nose. He has nothing to prove to Uther Pendragon. He never has.

“Arthur!” His father greets. “Will you be joining us this evening?”

Arthur looks between Morgana and his father trying to piece together what it is exactly she has done.

He shakes his head at his sister. “Morgana, what --”

“Go Arthur,” she whispers. And then she looks over his shoulder and swears again. “Fuck -- Arthur, seriously you have to _go_.”

“Gaius!” His father says and Arthur feels his blood run cold. Because if Gaius is here that must mean….

If disheveled Merlin was a problem for Arthur it is nothing in comparison to dressed up Merlin. He’s looks so fucking beautiful that if Arthur wasn’t so paralyzed by fear he would probably do something stupid like confess all of his feelings. Merlin is staring at him, confusion written in his every feature and Arthur feels his heart jump into his throat. 

“This wasn’t part of the deal,” Morgana hisses to her father, low enough that Gaius and Uther’s company probably didn’t hear but Merlin definitely did if the way his face hardens is anything to go by. And suddenly Arthur gets it, the deal Morgana struck and what is about to happen. But short of tackling Merlin and dragging him from the room, Arthur has no idea how to stop it.

His father gives a wolf-like grin as he gestures from the group he brought with him to Morgana and Arthur. “I believe you have already met them but I’d like to introduce you to my children.”

\--

It feels like a horrible family road trip. Or a kidnapping. Kidnapping might be a more apt descriptor.

Gwen and Elyan are stuffed into the narrow backseat of the jet black pickup truck. Elyan more so than Gwen, with his knees nearly up to his chest. The woman is driving. Her hair braided back in the tightest plait Gwen has ever seen. The man with the shoulder length hair is riding shotgun. Several times he has looked over his shoulder and opened his mouth as if to speak but the driver always punches him in the shoulder hard enough that even Gwen winces. The very tall man is riding in the bed of the truck.

Gwen doesn’t ask where they are going, though she recognizes a few streets as they take backroads. They are still in Camelot. _Hunting monsters_.

Gwen cannot look at her brother. She knows if she does she is going to erupt. She’s never felt this fear before, this anger. Lying is something it is nearly impossible for her to forgive and Elyan has been lying for _years_. But she’s not ready for the explosion, not in this truck with so many witnesses. It might be in the Smith family history to have shouting matches in front of neighbors but Gwen is not ready to participate in the tradition.

The truck pulls to the side off a seemingly random street. The engine is killed and the four of them sit in silence. In the back, she can hear the other bounty hunter moving around. The woman sighs and looks at her brother.

“Work it out. We won’t need you for this one.” She gives a pointed look at the man in the passenger seat who sighs and exists without saying anything. She can hear their muffled conversation through the closed doors, the man gesturing wildly, _I just think we should have explained what we’re doing or how we protect each other or put her at ease. I mean, Christ_ \--

The woman’s voice cuts him off, _that’s Elyan’s job. It’s his family._

_But aren’t we his family?_

Anger pools hot in her stomach and she blinks against the stinging in her eyes, staring out the tinted window. She’s not going to talk first. She’s the one who always caves, who always gives in, who gives everyone else what _they_ want. She was the mediator between her parents when she was far too young then between her father and Elyan. She’s always the peacekeeper in every role she’s ever held. 

Fuck that, she’s done.

Elyan shifts in the seat beside her. “I didn’t know how to tell you, Gwen. I didn’t….”

She sucks in a breath of air, loud in the quiet of this truck. “We _promised_ ,” she hisses, not looking at him, “no more secrets.”

She can hear Elyan swallow. “I didn’t want you to be mad or -- or _worried_ ,” he stammers. “You always worry so much and I --”

She whips around to face him. “I wonder why I would have to worry about you?" Sarcasm drips from her words. "It’s not like you disappeared one night with nothing but a text message that said you ‘needed some space’ right after a big fight with dad. Not as though you left _no word_ with our father so he blamed himself for your absence and retreated even further into his shell than he did when mom left and _I_ was the one who had to take care of him, _again_. It isn’t as though after years of making sure we both had packed lunches for school, and asking if you did your homework, and doing your laundry, and cleaning our home you left without the courtesy of goodbye!” The last word is shouted and strangled. She can feel tears falling down her cheeks but doesn’t bother to wipe them. “I think given those circumstances I am more than entitled to my _worry_.”

Elyan looks young, as he stares at his clasped hands. They’ve always had a backwards dynamic. Despite being younger, Gwen was the one who looked out for him, the one Elyan would come to with problems. She has never resented it quite as much as she does right now. Why is it always her job to look after everyone else?

“I’m sorry about -- about everything.” Elyan seems at a loss for words. “I didn’t actually finish school,” he whispers.

She shakes her head, even angrier. “You think that’s what’s upsetting me? The fact that you don’t have a degree? And not that you lived a double life for the past five years! And have put yourself in danger all the time! And that if something had happened to you, I would have never known the _truth_?”

“Isolde would have told you.” Gwen pins him with an irate glare and Elyan ducks his head. “I didn’t know how to explain.” It’s a confession, quiet and almost immediately swallowed by the darkness around them.

Gwen lets out an angry breath. “You know how I feel about lying.”

“I know. And I know it doesn’t cut it but I really am sorry,” he looks up at her and she sees his eyes are also brimming with tears. “Not just about the recent stuff, but all the shit that happened when we were young.” He shakes his head. “I should have been a better brother and helped out more. I was selfish.”

The instinct to comfort takes over before she can smother it. “You were a kid,” Gwen says.

“So were you.”

Gwen doesn’t want to talk about their childhood. It’s not the most pressing issue at the moment. “Are you ready to be honest?” Elyan gives a reluctant nod. “What the fuck have you been doing Elyan, really?”

Elyan scratches at his neck. “I -- uh -- well I’m a bounty hunter?” Gwen rolls her eyes, they’ve obviously covered this. “Right, well, I couch surfed for a long time after I left, trying to figure out what I want to do or what I’m good at. After a while it got pretty old and came back to Camelot but I didn’t want to see you or dad until I really had my feet under me. I tried to sort of work as a jack of all trades but the only thing people really seemed interested in was my ability to pick locks.” Gwen gives her brother a look and he holds up his hands. “I know, I know, it was so fucking stupid I was just hellbent on proving dad wrong, that I could -- you know -- make it on my own without his help.”

“You thought you’d prove him wrong by becoming a _criminal_?”

Elyan presses his lips together. “I wasn’t _really_ a criminal seeing as I didn’t actually break-in anywhere. I wasn’t a very _good_ criminal and I felt really bad about it,” he adds as if that is supposed to make Gwen feel better.

Gwen lets out a long angry breath. How could her brother who is so smart be so fucking stupid? “So how’d you go from attempted breaking and entering to monster hunting?”

“During the very first job I took, Isolde caught me trying to break into the building she works in. A rival bounty hunter hired me to open the door so they could steal some of their cases. She offered me way more money to join their team and to leave that other job behind.”

“Why?” The woman Gwen saw doesn’t strike her as terribly altruistic.

Elyan shrugs. “That’s what she does. She sort of took me under her wing, so did Gwaine and Percival, and taught me how to...hunt monsters.” He shrugs. “The pay is good and I like doing it, I just didn’t really know how to explain my job to you and dad.”

Gwen bites her lip. “You told me you didn’t know anyone named Merlin.”

“I don’t, I swear to God. What does this Merlin have to do with bounty hunting?”

“He works at the school,” she says, “as a protector.”

Elyan’s eyes widen in realization. “You mean Emrys? I’ve never heard him called Merlin.” Elyan leans forward a little. “Wait, what are you doing hanging around Emrys? That’s really dangerous.”

“You’re one to talk! And I’m not the one being questioned right now!” Gwen says. “You still haven’t --”

She is cut off as the front doors are ripped open and the other bounty hunters throw themselves into the seats. There’s a thud and she looks through the back window to see the tall man getting himself settled in the bed.

“Did something go wrong with the _bastet_?” Elyan asks.

The long haired man turns around and shakes his head. “Something worse came up, emergency.”

“Shit,” Elyan says, “where?”

“The university.”

\--

The world is tipping dangerously, careening off its axis as Merlin stumbles his way out of the building, taking turns at random. Using magic to propel him further, faster, clearing half the street between one second and the next. His stomach gives a lurch and he bends in half, wondering if he’s going to be sick.

He ignores the sound of someone yelling his name.

He feels betrayed. The fact that Morgana has spent the past few weeks working with them, knowing the president was after them and saying nothing. The fact that Arthur has probably been spying to his father, reporting everything they’ve been doing and mocking him behind his back. Merlin knew it was dangerous to let Arthur in. Arthur with his charming smile and magnetic personality. A sun in the bleak expanse that is Merlin’s world. Merlin let himself get caught in his gravity. And now he’s being burned.

It’s deeper than betrayal. He’s _gutted_. A knife has wedged it’s way deep into the pit of his stomach and acid is boiling its way up.

There’s a sizzle of magic behind him and he whips around to see Morgana standing there with her face as pale as he’s ever seen it. Merlin narrows his eyes. He’d feel pretty shitty too if his big master plan to destroy the program was crumbling around him. Using magic to catch up to him probably didn’t help.

“Merlin --”

He clenches his fist against the tide of magic. “You said you wanted to help me but that’s not what you wanted at all is it? You just wanted to be in charge again and save the day and get all the glory.” He shakes his head. “You wanted me to _fail_. Your selfishness and arrogance know no bounds.” Tears sting his eyes but he can’t bring himself to care.

Morgana’s eyes flash bright and angry. “Is that what you think of me?”

“That’s what you think of _yourself_ ,” he hisses. It’s the lowest blow he can send and she reels as if slapped. But fuck -- she’s been _lying_ to him. She probably didn’t do fuck all with her little project. Christ, she is probably working with Morgause and with Uther and all of them have teamed up to take down the project. And Arthur --

Morgana opens her mouth but says nothing which is damning enough for Merlin. He turns on his heel and sends a wave of magic through his leg muscles until they burn and he’s away from her, around the corner and onto the quad. She’s weak from using what little magic she did and there’s no way she is going to catch up.

It’s cold. He doesn’t have his jacket, fleeing too fast to grab it. He stops before the statue in the middle of the open lawn, of some old rich guy that probably spent a fortune on this shitty school. He presses his hand against the icy chill of the stone and tries to ground himself. It’s too many seconds before he can get his body to move again.

“Merlin, _please_.”

He turns and there’s Arthur, lit up in a fucking spotlight by the moon. Gold and shining, sunlight on this dark night. Panting from sprinting after him.

Merlin squeezes his eyes shut against the pain.

“It’s not what you think,” Arthur whispers, the words a plea carried on the wind.

Merlin works his jaw. “You _lied_ to me.” He’s the butt of this huge joke. And fuck he’s embarassed because he really thought Arthur might --

Arthur’s shoulder slump. “Yes.”

Merlin swallows down a wave of bile and stands to his full height. “You -- you didn’t tell me he was your father on purpose.”

“Yes.”

“To _use_ me,” he snarls.

“No! It wasn’t anything like that. Merlin --”

“Stop saying my name!” he screams.

The wind around them picks up, biting and stinging. Merlin’s magic is wild and uncontrolled, his eyes burning from the wind and his tears and the gold of the magic pouring out of them. The Emrys power is feeding off his energy, wanting to strike but unable to find a target. But Arthur doesn’t move. 

“I’m sorry.”

Merlin shakes his head. “That’s not enough. I can’t -- I can’t trust you! I told you things --” Merlin cuts off and shakes his head. He’s told Arthur things he’s never shared with another living soul. The power sizzle under his veins and he takes an uneasy breath to reign it in. He’s worked too hard to control it, he can’t let _Arthur_ be the reason he slips up. He’s not sure what the power will do if unleashed.

“It’s not what you think,” Arthur says again, eyes wide and desperate. “I would never do anything to hurt you. Certainly not anything to do with my father.” He watches Arthur swallow. “I didn’t know how to tell you at first. And then --”

“And then _what_?” Merlin snarls, the power searing him through, taking over.

Arthur should be terrified. Of the gold in Merlin’s eyes, of the ground shaking beneath their feet, but he isn't. Stupid. Arthur is so stupid and brave it makes Merlin want to shake him. _Don’t you see!_ He wants to yell. _This is why you can’t get close to me! One day I’m going to explode and take out everyone around me and I won’t let you be there when that happens._

But Arthur, stupid brave Arthur, take a step closer. “And then,” he says, pulling Merlin from the magic, back to this frigid night. “And then there were too many lies. I didn’t know how to confess without it seeming like everything was a lie.”

“How can I believe you?”

Arthur sets his jaw. “I swore my allegiance to you once and I’d do it again. One thousand times, Merlin.” The magic sizzles at Arthur’s words, burning through Merlin from head to toe almost like a brand. Arthur takes another step. “And I’ll prove it. Whatever it takes.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“Necessary work never is.”

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Morgana and Gaius appearing at the edge of the quad. He looks back at Arthur. “I’m still mad.”

Arthur nods. “Of course I --”

The world shifts, cracks and Merlin lunges toward Arthur and pushes him behind his back as a crack appears just behind him.

A howl as their beast tumbles through, circling them and whining, high pitched and uncertain. A warning.

Arthur’s breath is hot on his neck as Merlin positions himself between the portal and Arthur. “What does that mean?”

Another crack and Merlin brings his magic right to the tips of his fingers, narrows his focus on the crack before them as the fog gathers and swirls and the temperature drops further. A figure is forming in the mist.

“It means our dog found Mordred.” The figure steps out of the mist and into the light of the moon. “Or what’s left of him.”

The figure bears Mordred’s face, the same round cheeks though the curls have undeniably gone wild in the past few weeks. His face is pulled back at the cheeks baring his teeth in what might be an attempt at a smile. His eyes are obsidian black. 

The body is changed. Back hunched, clothes stained dark either with blood or shadow dust. His fingers end in fifteen inch claws, dark as his eyes, sharp even from where Merlin is standing.

The head tilts dramatically to one side.

Merlin swallows. “Mordred?”

The mouth stretches wider. “Not anymore.”

And then it lunges.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I really thought the huge magic throw down would happen in this chapter but it got really long....so stay tuned.
> 
> Next Chapter Features: the aforementioned magic throw down, BAMF Everyone, and lots of monsters.
> 
> Comments and kudos are the best :D


	13. Chapter 13

Merlin’s magic swells with a sharp crack of power that shakes the very ground beneath his feet. Time feels slow, his responses sluggish, as his eyes burn and his limbs coil with anticipation.

“Call Freya!” Merlin yells, trusting Arthur will hear him over the wind. Trusting that Arthur, despite potentially working with his father behind Merlin’s back, won’t want this school to be tormented by a demon. 

With a wide sweep of his arm behind him, Arthur and the _Hellhound_ are hit with a wave of magic and soar through the air, back toward the library, so Arthur is as far away from the demon as possible. If the _Hellhound_ is bound to protect them, hopefully it gets the message and expels its energy to protect Arthur. Because despite all of Merlin’s conflicted feelings in the moment, he still doesn’t want any harm to come to Arthur. This stupid small voice is already telling him to believe him, that the Arthur was telling the truth, and he was genuinely sorry. Merlin shakes off the voice, it’s something to worry about later. But he can’t spare a look behind him to make sure Arthur heard or is at a safe distance because between one blink and the next Mordred is soaring through the air, right in front of him.

His face is twisted, snarled in anger, those claws sharp and deadly are aimed at his chest. Merlin drops to one knee and ducks. Mordred releases an inhuman shriek as he soars overhead. Merlin jumps to a crouch and turns to watch as Mordred’s body skids against the grass, hands digging into the earth and tilling it in their wake. The demon’s head snaps up to face Merlin, expression so furious Merlin’s heart gives an uncomfortable ache.

“Mordred?” he asks, desperate, looking for any sign of the boy who trained under him, any clue that he is still in there, that they can still save him.

The demon barks a laugh. “ _Mordred_ ,” he mocks, pitching his voice low as he digs his hands deep into the earth and shakes his body not unlike a dog before standing. “The boy with no talent, whose parents thought he was a worthless _waste_ of a son and even magic itself thought he was a _failure_ , didn’t want to taint itself by going into this pathetic body.”

Anger flares hot in Merlin’s veins and he summons a burst of fire ready to hurl it at the creature, stopping just shy of the throw.

The demon’s twisted smile tells Merlin it has come to the same realization he has. “Can’t hurt him, can you?” the demon pouts, sticking out his bottom lip. “Did you know I get all his memories, all his knowledge,” it hisses. “He really looked up to you. He was _devastated_ when he disappointed you. That he proved himself to be the failure everyone already knew he was.”

Though the night is cold, Merlin feels hot, feels like he is burning with the anger inside of him, boiling with magic that could wipe this creature off the earth. Merlin knows he shouldn’t talk to the demon. They are tricky and clever and manipulative. They will burn the world to the ground simply because they think it would be funny to watch. It’s trying to play Merlin. It’s succeeding.

“Do you want to talk to him?” There’s a malicious glee in its voice and the eyes go from obsidian black to the light clear color of Mordred’s. Mordred blinks once as if coming back to himself, posture straightening, and claws turning nearly translucent as the magic keeping them manifested grows weak, before setting sights on Merlin.

“Run, Merlin!” Mordred screams. There’s another painful ache in his chest at the fact that despite the other man’s terror and confusion he’s using his brief moment of freedom to try and help Merlin. “Save yourself! I can’t --” the eyes go black and the demon erupts into a loud cackle.

“ _Shut up_!” Merlin snarls, throwing a wave of magic at the demon it brushes to the side with a laugh, sending the trees lining the quad shaking.

The situation is fucked, impossible, and Merlin needs a clear head if he is going to solve it. But he is going to solve it. He is motherfucking Emrys and this is just one more monster he needs to deal with. It is exactly the same game he is always playing only this time there is a twist. Mordred is still in there so they need to get him out. He just needs to stall. Because Arthur is going to call Freya and Freya is going to bring their demon banishing weapon and the _Hellhound_ will protect the other two and they are going to use it against the demon and Mordred is going to be back in no time.

So how do you stall a demon?

The demon answers the question for him, leaping into the air, claws extended. Merlin crouches low and lets the magic flood his veins, operating on instinct. He jumps forward and tackles it, grabbing it around the waist, momentum carrying them away from where he sent Arthur. The demon screeches, high pitched and painful, when Merlin’s skin touches it’s own and Merlin presses his hands against its neck until the flesh seems to sizzle and he has to retreat. He can’t hurt it too much. It’s still Mordred.

The moment he releases his hold, the demon takes its advantage, kicks him in the gut and knocks all the air from his lungs. Before scrambling on all fours far enough away that Merlin can’t touch it.

Fighting isn’t the best stalling tactic. Time for a new strategy.

“Why are you doing this?” Merlin asks. The demon seems fairly chatty so he may as well use it to his advantage. Freya has to be arriving soon. He just needs a few more minutes. “Why do you even want Mordred?”

The demon laughs. “Believe me, _I don’t_. His magic could hardly achieve what I want.”

“And what is it you want?”

There’s a shout from across the quad. He forces himself not to look. But he flinches. And that action alone tells the demon far too much.

The demon seems to read his mind as it flicks its jet black eyes to the far end of the quad. “Mordred didn’t know much about my kind, ‘demons’ as you call us. We’re trapped in that place you call the Ether. I want to come and go as I please but in order to do that, I need some Sorcerer magic.” 

“Why?”

It stops and gives that unnerving smile. “Would you like a practical demonstration?”

It throws its arm forward, all the shadows of the quad twisting and coalescing and all around them is the sound of the world shattering in three separate places as portals form and Merlin watches in horror as dozens of creatures start pouring out. All of them doused in shadow and circling around them.

He can’t fight all of them. Not alone. 

He turns back to Mordred to find the demon grinning from ear to ear. “I can do that,” it says, “with the _pathetic_ magic in this failure of a Sorcerer. Imagine what I will accomplish with _you_ as my vessel, _Emrys_.”

And then the world under Merlin’s feet gives a crack ready to swallow him whole.

\--

Freya is _sweating_.

The ice in the air is a welcome relief to the swirl of heat and fear inside of her. Her breath is coming loud in her own ears as she sprints across campus.

“I have -- said it before -- and -- I’ll say it -- again. We deserve -- a fucking -- golf cart.”

She’s also talking to herself to keep her mind from wandering to dangerous places. Every single one of her instincts is telling her to turn around and _run_. But onward she presses.

Even before she answered Arthur’s call she knew some fucked up shit was happening. She had been sitting before the Scanner, Program Methodology book abandoned as she binged the _Golden Girls_ on her laptop. A bright dot appeared right on the quad, the identification system declaring it a _Hellhound_.

She was already scrambling for her jacket before Arthur’s call came through. Then as she stared at the Scanner and listened to him explain in slightly fragmented statements that Mordred was back and she needed to bring the weapon across campus it looked like all hell broke loose, dozens of glowing dots started peppering the screen.

The gold in her hand is searing where she squeezes the enchanted cross tight so it doesn’t slip out of her sweaty palms. The Emrys magic in her is unsettled. It doesn’t fit in her skin quite the way it does Merlin. She’s not the primary vessel, she’s option B when Merlin is otherwise incapacitated. The magic trusts her enough to let her harness it for small purposes but she hasn’t done enough to earn full control. The fact that it’s pushing her right now, stinging her veins, nudging her forward, powering this supernatural weapon in her hands means something truly horrifying is awaiting her arrival.

The air gets stifling the closer she gets to the quad, denser, heavy, laced with fire and brimstone and the acidic rancid stench of sulphur. The shadows are _moving_ as she sprints past, thick tendrils dancing in the heavy atmosphere. She’s only ever seen shadows do that when they are close to the Ether.

Her hands are shaking as fear empties into her veins but she keeps going. Arthur called her and he _needs_ her help. And whatever she is seeing on the peripheral of this storm is nothing compared to what Merlin is facing in its center.

She skids to a stop as she rounds the Science Center.

Before her is a nightmare. The sky completely blotted out by shadows and the lawn decorated with every horrible creature she can think of traveling in packs and circling: two _serkets_ , five _Hellhounds_ , three horses that appear to be all bones with no flesh though the bones are black as charcoal, a creature large as a bear but feathered, and a handful of cat-like creatures small and slim leaping through the air as they run, nearly ten feet off the ground. All of them are running in a wide ring. Above a flock of _harpies_ circle, two _gryphons_ flying in their midst, mirroring the formation on the ground below. Because there in the middle just like she knew he would be is Merlin, staring down Mordred, standing between the demon and everyone else.

“Freya!”

Near the front of the library a group is huddled: Arthur, Morgana, Gaius, Dr. Muirden, and Morgause for reasons Freya is sure someone will need to explain to her later. She takes off toward them.

She’s halfway there when a snarl sounds to her right. She turns and sees two _Hellhounds_ have broken from the stampede and are sprinting toward her.

The Emrys magic gives a crackle under her skin at the thought. It’s ready and eager and _willing_ to let Freya be a vessel. It feels like something deeper than power, something like surety or confidence, the knowledge that whatever decision she is going to make is going to be the _right_ one.

She skids to a stop and crouches low, mimicking a pose she’s seen Merlin use hundreds of times and doesn’t fight the magic, lets it fill her and sting her veins and become _hers_ to use. All the hairs on her arm stand on end and she feels charged and electric. Merlin always said it was too early for her to try and control it totally on her own but….desperate times.

The first of the two barrels into her, jaw wide, and she jams the cross into its open mouth, letting out a scream as its fangs slice through her hand, sinking into her flesh, sliding in smooth as a knife through butter, and a sharp agonizing fire erupts from the puncture wound. She’s burning in a white hot searing pain but she doesn’t let go. The creature is screaming too, loud and pained, the acrid stench of the Ether blowing hot across her face strong enough to make her gag. Freya feels just the faintest bit of guilt. She doesn’t like to hurt the creatures, not really, but she doesn’t see how she’d have any other choice. The sulphur smell gets unbearable and she grits her teeth as the creature begins to sizzle and smoke clouds her vision. In a burst of shadow dust and soot it’s gone. She stumbles, off balance, as the second _Hellhound_ leaps through the fog toward her. Before she can get up her hand to block it, a dark shadow streaks through the air and throws it back toward where it came. The _Hellhound_ skids along the grass on its side before it reclaims purchase and gives a pathetic whimper as it runs back to the stampede with its tail tucked between its legs.

The shadow that saved her stands between her and faces the stampede giving a low growl.

“Patrick!”

Patrick turns to her, eyes glowing gold, and Freya gives a hysterical laugh as he runs up and nudges her with his snout, helping her to her feet. She keeps the cross a safe distance from him lest she turn him to ash as well. Wait until she tells Merlin _Patrick_ saved her life. She’s never going to let him hear the end of it.

“Are you alright?” Arthur asks when she reaches the group. Freya wants to tell everyone they should move to the stairs, that would be their best cover. The library has some of the most powerful wards on campus and there’s no way any of the creatures could even step foot on the steps. But her voice hasn't quite caught up with her. Patrick takes position just before the group, a careful distance from the warded stairs, growling, fangs bared, hackles raised as he takes in the scene. Their protector. Freya doesn’t give a fuck what Merlin has to say about it, she’s inviting Patrick to sleep in the workshop, possibly her dorm if her roommate doesn’t mind.

"Freya?" Morgana asks, trying to take a look at her injury.

Freya nods. “I’m fine,” she lies, pulling her hand away. She’s fairly certain she’s never been less fine. “Where did all these creatures come from?”

Arthur throws a look to the center of the lawn where Merlin is facing off against the demon. “They came from Mordred, or whatever is inside of Mordred.”

A small feeling of panic begins tingling its way up Freya’s arms. “It’s powerful enough to make portals?”

They watch as the the demon throws its head back and the two _gryphons_ dive toward Merlin. The magic in Freya gives a strong surge as Merlin pulls it to throw up a wave of gold that sends both creatures careening toward the far side of the lawn.

Arthur’s eyes are wide with fear when he looks back at her. “I think it might be powerful enough to control the monsters too.”

The magic in Freya is buzzing, waiting, it _wants_ her to act. And she knows what to do. “I’m going to get this to Merlin.”

“You aren’t going out there,” Arthur says at the same time Morgana says, “are you out of your goddamn mind?” The two siblings share a quick tense look before turning back to Freya.

Freya sticks out her chest and feels the magic burn hotter. She wonders if her eyes have gone gold. “I have Emrys magic! I can handle myself. My _job_ is to assist Merlin!” The magic in her is a feeling like no other. She feels powerful, alive in a way she never has before, as if she could tackle any obstacle and crush it in her bare hands. Maybe this is why Merlin is so stubborn all the time. The magic must make him feel like he might be a god. Or at least, that’s how Freya is feeling.

Gaius steps forward and gives her a soft look and rests a hand against her shoulder, a feeling of serene calm washing over her and fighting against the surge of power. “Freya, it might be best to take a breath.” 

She doesn’t want to, the _magic_ doesn’t want to, but she trusts Gaius. He cares about Merlin just as much as she does. Freya reluctantly lets out a huge gust of air and feels the magic settle. This is why Merlin always insists they stay calm. If you lose control of your emotions too much, you can’t control anything. It puts the magic in charge.

“No one is saying you can’t handle yourself,” Arthur says gently, “but seeing as demons attack Sorcerers, maybe someone without magic should go.”

The anger is back hot and flaring but before Freya can point out what a fucking hypocrit he is, Morgana hits his arm. “ _You_ must be out of your goddamn mind. You don’t have any magic! How would you defend yourself against the sea of monsters!”

“With the weapon!” he yells, gesturing at the cross Freya is still holding. She clutches it to her chest and sets her jaw, ignoring how slippery it is from the blood still pouring out of her hand. The wound is already healing, the Emrys magic stitching her together and keeping her whole. She won’t make it through this fight any other way. The Emrys magic toes a delicate line, syphoning off just enough life from the host to unleash the full capabilities of the magic and keeping the host well enough to use it. Freya doesn’t exactly know what happens when that line is crossed, when the magic takes too much and there isn’t any life left to pull from. Merlin tells her not to think about it too much.

Gaius makes a noise and shakes his head. “It’s too dangerous, Arthur. Even if the demon isn’t interested in you, it appears to be controlling the creatures. It could send them after anyone who approaches.”

Dr. Muirden is looking out at the scene, eyes wide in horror. Freya has never spoken to him before, just seen lurking around the Computer Science building as she shuffles to her classes. He seems terrified. “We need to deal with the other creatures first,” he says, though he sounds like he’d rather do anything else. “We won’t be able to approach him with all of,” he gestures vaguely before him, “ _t_ _hat_ standing in the way.”

Morgause shakes her head. “We need to kill the _demon_ first. It can just keep making more portals and sending in more creatures. I doubt we can deal with this many, imagine if it lets in more.”

“What if we --”

Freya doesn’t hear the rest of Arthur’s sentence.

She can feel it in her bones as another portal cracks open, this one _huge_ and she barely braces herself for impact before she watches Merlin leap into the air as the ground where he was just standing disappears, a portal opening right under his feet.

There’s a scream of anger from the demon and he sways on his feet. The faintest glimmer of an idea starts licking at the edges of Freya’s mind.

“It’s weak,” Freya and Morgana say at the same time. Just like Sorcerers demon magic must be finite, must have a period between surges of power where you need to build up strength again. And creating this many portals would certainly knock Merlin out, maybe they don’t need to be as worried about a recharge as they thought.

“How does that help us?” Morgause asks.

“Because,” Arthur says as they all watch the storm before them where Merlin is throwing huge blasts of magic right at the demon. “If we saw that from all the way over here, we can be sure Merlin noticed it in there. He’s going to force the demon to keep using magic to keep it weak. He’s stalling.”

“I have a stupid idea,” Freya says as soon as the thought registers.

Morgana heaves a sigh. “I’m afraid you wouldn’t be Merlin’s Apprentice if you didn’t. Let’s hear it.”

\--

The giant cross is sticky and Morgana doesn’t let herself think too much about why that’s the case, about the fact that it’s Freya’s blood clinging to the surface. She just clutches it tighter.

Morgause makes a tsking noise behind her. “Can’t believe this is the best idea the all mighty Emrys team came up with.”

Morgana turns to glare at her. “I didn’t hear you offering any better solutions.”

“Well, I don’t possess two centuries of magic knowledge,” the other woman snaps back.

Morgana is rattled, from the storm of beasts currently spotted across the lawn and from how horrible her evening turned out. The plan seemed so easy. Uther’s reputation on campus is slowly and steadily declining given that he is such an asshole and since Morgana is well liked he thought claiming her as his daughter might help his cause, might make him more likeable. As far as Morgana was aware, no one knew she and Arthur were half-sibling except for the Emrys Project so he’d be in the clear. She would tragically be known to be related to Uther Pendragon but what a small price to pay if it saved everyone else.

Then everything fell to shit. Merlin hates her and Arthur hates her and now they have to fight a demon who can control everything from the Ether, creatures and portals included.

Hopefully Freya’s plan will go better.

“And,” Morgause hisses, evidently not finished, “I don’t see why _I_ can’t hold the cross. Your magic is not nearly as helpful in a situation like this.”

“Because we need your vastly superior magic to start knocking out some of the monsters.” A series of three flashes light from across the quad, then again to the right. The signal. Everyone is in place. Morgana turns to Morgause. “Time to show us what you’ve got.”

Morgause narrows her eyes and squats down, closing her eyes and putting both palms flat against the earth. Not for the first time, Morgana wonders how Morgause learned her magic. If Morgana didn’t have the Emrys program, she wouldn’t even understand what her visions were, the fact they granted her a snapshot of the future. But Morgause is powerful. She might not be able to touch and manipulate all the different kinds of magic like those who train in the Emrys program but her own magic is finely tuned. She is powerful in her own right. And thank god she is because they need her to turn out a feat even Emrys might struggle with.

The team has split, which based on every film in the horror genre, tells Morgana it is a great idea. The quad is a huge open grass lawn right in the heart of campus, bisected by a few sidewalks. Morgause and Morgana have made their way to the southwestern end, stationed by the Pendragon building. Gaius and Arthur are stationed back by the Library, and Freya and Muirden have positioned themselves on the eastern side beside the Humanities building. The idea is if they can get the monsters to split and each take on one group, someone can get to Merlin. And that someone better sure as shit be Morgana. It’s why she’s with Morgause, of the group she is undoubtedly the most powerful.

Morgana tries to be patient as she watches Morgause concentrate, as sweat beads along her brow and the air around them grows charged, keeping one eye on the woman crouched on the ground and one eye on the monsters still circling. Then she feels it. A rumbling. Not like before when the demon opened the portal. This one is deeper. The earth itself is starting to shake.

Morgana grabs hold of the building as the shaking begins in earnest, Morgause lets out a cry but doesn’t open her eyes. 

“I can’t --” Morgause pants and bares her teeth and lets out a roar as she slams her palms into the ground. Another violent shake and she watches as some of the beasts lose their footing. She stumbles and grabs Morgause’s shoulder for support. A flash of electric energy stings Morgana from head to toe. It is the closest she has felt to possessing the Emrys magic since she gave it up all those years ago.

Morgause’s eyes snap open and with another scream a cavern opens. A sinkhole opening and swallowing the earth, moving in a line directly across the middle of the lawn until it nearly hits a building on the opposite side. As the earth begins to give way beneath the circle of monsters, the creatures begin to fall. Several of the slim cats fall in along with two of the skeleton horses. A _Hellhound_ scrambles for purchase against the side. The largest beast leaps over the five foot wide chasm nearly falling in but righting itself but several others have to plant their feet so they don’t skid over the edge.

There’s a high pitched scream from the demon as the river of beasts stops running. Above, the sky creatures scream in response and keep circling.

“What the fuck was that?” Morgause asks, panting lying on the ground.

Morgana shakes her head, she doesn’t know but they don’t have time to deal with it right now. It’s something to unpack later.

The beasts are split. More on their side which was not exactly what they were hoping to achieve. The demon is looking at them, _sees_ them, and throws out his arm and all the creatures are rushing toward the cause of the earthquake before he sets his sights back on Merlin once more.

“Thank God you all came up with a plan that doesn't have me do anything stupid like use all my magic,” Morgause says still on the ground. A flash of annoyance cuts through Morgana’s fear. Morgause _agreed_ to the plan and like she already pointed out, it’s not as if the other woman came up with any better ideas. She watches as the bounty hunter draws a dagger from her belt, ornamental and beautiful, the color as red as blood, and hands it to Morgana.

"Get up," Morgana orders.

Morgause hits her with a glare, still panting, "I need a minute."

"We don't have a minute!"

"Then I guess it's up to you."

Morgana gives a hysterical laugh. Morgause is right. Why the fuck did they give her the cross? She doesn’t have Emrys magic like Freya, doesn’t have the experience like Gaius, doesn’t even have Arthur’s stupid penchant for bursts of reckless courage, and her normal magic is only good for seeing the future, not for fighting damned beasts. And what little magic she _can_ use she already gathered and dispelled, used it to chase after Merlin before all hell broke loose. She knows she hasn’t rested enough to harness it again.

There’s a flash of light from the right side of her vision and she turns to see Freya standing across the lawn, arms thrown out before her and _Hellhound_ at her side. With a scream a wall of flames begins igniting from where she stands, licking across the grass until it passes before Morgana. 

Oh, that’s right, they did have a plan. Freya’s job is to run interference.

And Morgana won’t go down without a fight. She holds the cross in one hand and the dagger in the other and stoops low into the position she always favored as Emrys. It’s primal and animalistic but it’s what she knows best.

Several creatures fall into the flames, shrieking as the fire catches against their fur and burns them. Two of the cat creatures clear them no problem and they are sprinting toward Morgana. Behind them the huge beast, the one as large as a bear does the same, its under belly catching fire but it doesn’t seem to notice or care. It’s slower than the other two but all three of them are approaching too fast for her to get to safety. She might not have the Emrys magic but she fought enough beasts to remember the steps, remember the _rules_. 

> _Rule Number Twenty-Nine: If you are in range for a Supernatural Entity to strike you, you must strike first._

The cats are black as night but spotted with flashes of light that look like flames. Their ears are triangular and tall and their teeth seem to protrude from their mouth. They shriek as they leap toward her.

But she waits.

When the first one is close enough she takes the cross and in a backhand swing, throws her arm out so the creature’s face connects. There’s a sickening crunch on impact, a wail, a sizzle and flash of smoke as it disintegrates and returns to the Ether.

She coughs against the dust particles floating in the air as the other one appears through the fog. With the dagger clutched in her other hand she runs it through the second cat, the creature shrieking and falling to the ground but still moving. With a grunt she slams the cross into it and it too vanishes with a cloud of dust.

She doesn’t even have time to celebrate because the big entity is still barreling toward her, giant and feathered and running on all fours. She doesn’t think this one is going to vanish quite as fast as those little creatures but the weapon is all she has. She plants her feet and throws her arms to brace herself when the monster collides with a huge mass of metal and goes flying, soaring through the air and landed with a resounding thud against the flames. A tall man leaps from the bed of the truck and unleashes three rounds into the beast’s chest before it falls.

The passenger door opens and Gwaine flashes her a grin as he jumps down. “Never fear, the calvary is here.” He gives her an exaggerated wink.

Despite the thanks he’s likely owed, Morgana can’t bring herself to show him such gratitude. Instead she says, “you could have hit me.”

“Not sure you can blame me this time seeing as I wasn’t the one driving.”

Morgana barely suppresses an eyeroll as he climbs into the bed of the truck and starts positioning some sort of long narrow gun to take out the creatures in the sky.

The tall man, Percival if Morgana remembers correctly, runs over to check Morgause’s pulse. The passenger door is still open so Morgana peeks in to give Isolde a piece of her mind only to see _Gwen’s_ startled face blinking back at her from the backseat. Before she can say anything another man crawls out of the back seat. He turns and gives Gwen a fierce glare. “Stay in the truck.”

Gwen’s mouth opens and closes a few times. “Elyan...what…” but he’s gone, climbing into the truck bed to join Gwaine.

Morgana looks back at Gwen. “Your brother is on Isolde’s team?”

Isolde shoots her an exasperated look from her position at the wheel. “Is that really a priority right now? What do you need me to do to help? Should I drive around the perimeter while we pick off the creatures in the sky?”

It’s not a bad plan but the sky is the least of their problems, they still have no way to reach Merlin on the _ground_. Unless….

> _Rule Number Thirty-Four: In the field improvisation and patience are the keys to success. Wield them both in equal measures._

Morgana looks up at the truck. “Do you think this thing can get through that?” She gestures at the cluster of beasts still surrounding Merlin.

Isolde shrugs. “Only one way to find out.”

Morgana hoists herself up and slams the passenger door. “Then let’s go.”

\--

For the second time this evening, Gwen is pretty sure she is going to die.

“Can you shoot?” Isolde asks as she grabs a gun from the back.

“No?” Gwen is still wrapping her mind around the image she can see through the window as Morgana settles herself in the seat.

“Can you drive?” Isolde asks, impatience in her voice.

“Yes?”

Isolde slams down the driver's seat and practically pulls Gwen out of the truck. “Then you take the wheel. Percival,” she yells, calling to the giant man over by a seemingly unconscious woman, “get Morgause a decent distance from the battle, I’ll watch your back. Elyan, Gwaine, you know the drill.”

And somehow Gwen sits with her hands clutched to the wheel looking at Morgana.

“This is impossible,” Gwen says.

Morgana nods. “Yes.” She licks her lips. There’s a series of bangs from the bed of the truck as the bounty hunting team begins to take out the monsters in the sky. “You can go, you don’t have to….get caught up in this.”

But Gwen is already caught up in this. She’s been caught since Mordred went missing in front of her building. Each step she takes seems to land her right back in the path of monsters whether it’s intentional or not. Maybe….maybe this is exactly where Gwen is supposed to be.

Maybe this is where she _wants_ to be.

The idea gives her a reckless burst of energy. She shifts the truck into drive. “I want to do this.”

Morgana gives her a rather manic grin. “Then drive.” Gwen slams her foot against the accelerator. The truck whines as the wheels spin in the damp frosty grass before lurching forward.

“Jesus!” Gwaine yells from the back.

“Sorry!” Gwen yells giving a hysterical laugh. The truck is big, but no bigger than the equipment she used to hop on back when she spent summers upstate helping out on her uncle’s farm. One of the wolf-like creatures she saw that first night with Arthur jumps in front of her and she sharply spins the wheel to avoid hitting it. Morgana braces her arm against the window and there is more swearing from the back.

“Fucking Christ, Gwen! This isn’t Mario Kart!” Elyan yells.

She ignores him and says to Morgana, “where am I going?”

“Right into the middle, close as you can get. I need to get this to Merlin.”

Through the mess of creatures Gwen can see two men, throwing their arms toward one another and blowing the other off their feet with sparks of color. The cavern stretches between the truck and the two figures. She is going to need to go around it. 

“Should I hit the other one?” Gwen asks as one of the smaller creatures runs before them and they plow over it with a thump. There’s more swearing from the back.

“No,” Morgana says as she settles back into her seat after peering out her open window. “We might still be able to save Mordred. We don’t want him to be too beat up when he comes back into his body.”

“Sure.” Something that looks like an oversized bird swoops down and dives right for the windshield. Gwen yells, “Going right!” and cuts the wheel sharp as she can manage. There’s more yelling from the back and one of them mutters, “at least she gave a warning this time.” It is very unlikely that Gwen will be offered the role of getaway driver ever again.

It’s the strangest obstacle course, dodging monsters and abominations, complete with a chasm in the ground. The demon and Merlin stand on the other side of it.

“How close do you think you can get?” Morgana asks.

Gwen steels herself and pushes down the accelerator once more, heading toward the edge of the lawn to skirt around the edges of the new ravine. She dodges and weaves the best she can in such a large vehicle until she turns a sharp arc and they hug the edge of the cavern. This close she can see it’s nearly fifteen feet deep and there’s movement in the shadows at the bottom, monsters that have fallen in.

She turns her eyes back to the scene before her.

Near the edge of the cavern they skid past Freya standing in a storm of fire, dog-like beast at her feet. Gwen watches in horror as one of the horses begins charging toward Freya. Morgana yells her name but she doesn’t seem to hear. The giant dog jumps first, grabs it around the neck and tears, until the horse falls to the ground in a clatter of bones. Behind them a second _Hellhound_ has already leaped, jaw wide, but Freya’s eyes are on the fire. Gwen goes to turn the truck to cut off its path but in a flash a man jumps in front of Freya and she watches as he falls to the ground, landing at an impossible angle.

“Shit,” Morgana swears. “Muirden.” She looks back at Gwen. “Keep going.”

“But -- shouldn't we help that man?”

“We aren’t going to be able to help if we have an army of creatures charging at us. We need to stop the demon first.” Morgana lets out an unsteady breathe. “Keep going,” she repeats.

Gwen obeys mainly because she doesn't know what else to do. When they round the far side she turns the truck back around to head toward the middle once more. A quick glance to the right side of the lawn shows her the path is mostly clear. Off to her right she thinks she can see Arthur and one of the older professors from the chemistry department running toward the fallen man. She spares an errant thought to wonder if everyone at this university is somehow involved in the world of monsters, if the minority is actually those in the dark.

She turns her eyes back on her path before she accidentally drives them into the ditch, aiming the truck right at the demon. When they are still a good twenty feet from Merlin, Morgana throws open the door and yells to the bounty hunters in the back. “Distract the demon but don’t hit him!”

The only answer is a show of bullets in the demon’s direction. The demon whips it’s head toward them in screams. In the headlights of the truck it looks evil. Gwen’s heart clenches as she sees the boy from her building who was always so quiet and reserved look like a monster. His clothes are tattered and there is something dark trickling out of the corner of his mouth. Merlin spares one glance in their direction and Morgana hurtles the cross toward him.

It turns top over end until Merlin catches it in a tight fist.

Morgana leaps back into the truck and slams the door shut.

“Get us the fuck away from here.”

\--

The tide, impossibly, is turning.

The demon knows it too. The crooked grin it has been wearing cracks as it takes in the scene around them.

Merlin gives it a smile, clutching the cross tight in his fist.

“NO!” It throws out an arm toward the truck to hit it with a wave of magic, but it’s too weak. A small pulse manages to burst toward it but it only jostles it a bit as it makes its way toward the library. The demon tips its head up toward the sky and screams.

It's cocky, this creature, and headstrong and it miscalculated its easy path to victory. It wasn’t counting on reinforcements because never in Mordred’s memories did Emrys have reinforcements. It has always been Emrys and their apprentice, alone.

Now it is desperate, which is the most dangerous state you could find a beast in. It turns to Merlin with a snarl. Merlin crouches low. Without magic left at its disposal a physical assault is the only option. That and fleeing.

It runs.

It takes off, feet pounding, without magic make it faster, heading straight toward the side of the lawn where Merlin can see Arthur and Gaius approaching a body on the ground. Merlin calls forth a burst of magic to propel him, to blur him, until he streaks past the demon and stops just thirty feet shy of his team, turns on his heel and swings the cross in his hand, ready.

It screams again and doesn’t alter its direction.

It tackles Merlin, ignoring the way the skin bubbles and sizzles and opens its jaw wide as if it intends to shred Merlin’s neck to pieces. But Merlin has the cross.

He thinks he hears Arthur yelling but he hopes Gaius will keep him from doing anything too stupid. It’s stupid enough that Arthur didn’t run when Merlin gave him the chance. Stupid that after finding safety on the steps of the library, left that safety. He’s going to have a long talk with Arthur about his lack of intelligence when all this is over.

Merlin takes the heavy gold object in his hand, stinging and buzzing with the magic running through it, and presses it against Mordred’s sternum. The demon lets out a shriek of agony and Merlin pushes it deeper. It’s a fine line he has to walk. To injure the demon enough to get it out of the body but keep the soul within it alive and well.

The screams cut off into something more human and the eyes begin flashing between the jet black of the demon and the clear eyes of Mordred.

“Please,” Mordred whispers, barely audible.

Merlin removes the cross from Mordred’s chest and scoots away from him, keeping the cross in hand.

“Mordred?”

Mordred looks up at him in a mixture of fear and worry and Merlin feels so relieved he’s nearly dizzy.

Mordred starts coughing, hacking, spitting up blood and ichor and shadow dust and saying something quiet between coughs, too low for Merlin to hear so he stands and walks closer.

The former Apprentice looks up at him and simply utters, “run.”

The demon is not the only one who miscalculated this evening.

Before Merlin can move, the eyes go black once more. Merlin attempts to turn on his heel and put some distance between them but something ice cold grabs his wrist, the one holding the cross and _squeezes_. He turns to find the demon standing right behind him holding on to his skin even as the smell of burnt flesh fills the air.

The bones in his wrist break and the crucifix falls to ground with a thud.

Fuck.

Mordred, sweet, slightly misguided, down on his luck Mordred squeezes the cracked bones until Merlin whimpers. He gives that smile that is all teeth and no joy. Merlin wants to plead and beg and see a glimmer of the boy who studied under him. A glance at the kid who told Merlin magic was a blessing, that Merlin treated it too much like a curse. But the only thing looking back at him is dead eyes, black as the Ether. 

With a final grin Mordred pulls back his arm and strikes. The first press of talons is a shock. Cold and sharp and digging into him until he feels his flesh give way with an agonizing tear. His magic lurches up in a dizzying electric strike but Mordred presses in closer until it feels like Merlin is split in two. Distantly he realizes he’s been speared clean through his abdomen, Mordred pressing so hard that he’s hanging in the air, body impaled on the nails. The pain is blinding, searing as it spreads from the claws in his stomach and lights all his nerves on fire. He can’t even scream. As he bleeds his magic gives a dull thrum and his eyes start to tunnel.

He tries to take in the scene around him, to make sure everyone else is alright but all he can see is Arthur, face twisted in horror. Arthur who may have betrayed him. Arthur who he tried to save. Arthur who should have ran when he had the chance.

Before he can send a wave of magic to take Arthur anywhere else, the world goes black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen, I promise everything is gonna be fine. It's just going to be awful first. But thanks for reading :)
> 
> Next Chapter Features: Detective work, healing magic, and some good old fashioned hurt/comfort ;)
> 
> Comments and kudos are amazing :D


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, sorry it's been *checks calendar* four months, I have been going Through It. But for those of you still reading and following along I promise I have not given up on this fic. I still love these characters and this world and intend to tell their story, it's just taking more Time than I thought it would.
> 
> Thank you for every comment and kudo and bookmark. Saying they mean the world to me would be an understatement.

Arthur feels like all the air has been sucked from the world.

Merlin is staring at him with eyes wide and gold, lips parted in an “oh,” a thin line of red trailing from his mouth. He’s a foot off the ground, hanging in the air, caught in the demon’s claws.

Then the claws are gone and Merlin crumples to the ground, completely still.

The demon turns to Arthur and _smiles_.

Arthur sees red.

The magic in the air is buzzing over his skin and in his veins and all the way to his bones. He shrugs off Gaius and runs, barreling straight toward the beast just as the creature did to Merlin. There’s a surge of magic to his right and his eyes catch on the cross dropped in the ground, a flaring beacon. He snatches it up and charges.

The demon grins wider, claws dripping _red_ , poised before him.

“Arthur!” He ignores Morgana’s plea, shouted over the wind, the truck spinning its wheels and turning back toward him, and stares into the blank black eyes of this creature that tried to kill Merlin.

He wants to destroy it, burn this thing to the ground until it _suffers_ , send it back to the pits of hell where it belongs.

A voice whispers in the back of his mind, _we need him alive, idiot._ Right. Their plan. He can do this. Do this for Gaius who watched in trepidation as Merlin fought this creature. Do this for Merlin’s advisor who is still on the ground as Freya stands before his body burning beasts that get too close. For Morguase who doesn’t seem to be anywhere but was willing to use her energy to help them and for Morgana how can be so stubbornly brave sometimes.

For Merlin. He’s going to do this for Merlin.

As he runs headlong toward the demon his anger fades and gives way to a gentle certainty that seems to slow the world around him. The sounds of fighting fade, the glow of this talisman guiding his way, and he finally has time to _think_. The demon is desperate and manic and weak. Twitching and cackling in equal measures. It has already lost. Arthur knows this, feels it all the way down to his soul with a confidence that makes him bold. And he knows what he needs to do next with just as much clarity: he needs to finish the banishing Merlin started.

With this realization the world kicks back into full motion. The demon swipes it’s claws at him and he slips into a slide, against the slick grass, pressing the cross against the bare skin of the once-human’s calf. The magic in the air around him crackles, loud in his ears. A burst of electricity erupts from the cross, runs up his arm making his muscle twitch and spasm. The stench of burning flesh and sulphur sting his nostrils but he pushes in the cross deeper. A scream erupts so loud Arthur’s eyes rattle in their sockets.

Until, abruptly, silence.

Arthur releases the hold and the body drops nearly on top of him. Empty.

Around him is chaos. Though most of the creatures have either been felled or fled, _harpies_ are ducking and pecking at the team of assembled Monster Hunters and Bounty Hunters and the truck is barreling toward him around the giant abyss in the ground and their _Hellhound_ is still defending Freya with a fierce protectiveness that Arthur would ordinarily find admirable. But Arthur doesn’t care about any of that. He runs to Merlin.

Merlin’s eyes are still bright and glowing. Gold tears leak from the corners in a trail down his cheek. He isn’t breathing.

“Merlin?” Arthur whispers, scared, so scared. More scared than he’s ever been about anything in his life. He wipes away at some of the tears and his fingers tingle, stained gold. Merlin is completely cold.

Panic closes his throat and blurs his vision. Merlin can’t die. Merlin _can’t_ die. Merlin is not _going_ to die. Merlin is fine. There is still so much he needs to say and wants to know and learn so Merlin is not allowed to just --

There’s the sound of doors slamming shut and Gwen is pushing Arthur out of the way, shrugging off her jacket to put on Merlin’s stomach. It is soaked red almost immediately.

Morgana drops to the ground beside him and grabs his chin with a tight grip, forcing him to turn away from Merlin’s still body and look into her eyes. Her nails dig into his cheek but he hardly notices.

“Breathe,” she orders. “With me.”

He takes in a gasping breath and tries but _fuck_ , how is he supposed to breathe when Merlin is --

Gaius kneels on Merlin’s other side. The older man spares Arthur one look. “Were you hurt?”

He shakes his head and Gaius says something low and quiet to Gwen and she pushes the jacket more firmly against Merlin. Arthur probably _should_ have been hurt with the way he landed and how close he was to the burning demon, the way electricity crackled through his body. It is then Arthur notices Gaius isn’t treating Merlin at all, all his attention is on _Mordred_.

Anger rushes over him with dizzying speed and his vision goes red once more.

Morgana squeezes him hard enough she might draw blood. Arthur doesn’t care. “Arthur,” she hisses. “Look. At. Me.”

He does. She looks wild, makeup smeared, hair tangled, unpolished in a way he’s hardly ever seen her before. But she’s focused, eyes clear and he stares right into them not hiding any of his fear or worry or pain. She loosens her grip and wipes away some of his tears. “Merlin is going to be fine.” Arthur opens his mouth to argue that he’s looking at him and he’s not _breathing_ but Morgana narrows her eyes. “ _Listen_ ,” she snaps, harsh enough it makes him pay attention. “Emrys can’t die. It comes with the powers. The only way Emrys can die is if they don’t have their powers. And the only way that can happen is if they pass them to an Apprentice. These are the _rules_.”

Right, the rules. The rules Arthur wasn’t supposed to read but Gaius let him for reasons he still doesn’t quite understand.

But the rules don’t tell the whole story. The powers could use all of Merlin’s life and bleed him empty until he’s just the shell and not the soul. Arthur gasps in a shuddering breath. “The magic --”

Morgana nods. “He is going to _live_. If the magic had taken him we would know. _Freya_ would know and she would already be over here. I promise he is probably already working on the lecture for how reckless you were.”

Arthur sits back in the grass with exhaustion. The sound of fighting is nearly gone as the demon is no longer controlling the creatures and they are returning by choice or by force to the Ether one by one.

“He hates me,” Arthur whispers, eyes stinging. There are so many other things he should be worried about but that’s the thought that won’t leave him be. Merlin hates him. And it’s his fault.

Gwen spares him a look over her shoulder and shakes her head. “I don’t think he could ever hate you, Arthur.” Her voice is so gentle and soothing, a gross juxtaposition to the blood coating her as she presses firmly against the gaping wound in Merlin’s chest.

But Arthur can still see Merlin’s face when he turned around with a hand on statue, as if the sight of Arthur was making him _sick_. Arthur burns with shame.

“I should have told him.”

Morgana squeezes his shoulder. “You still can.” A pause. Then an amendment. “ _I_ still can. It’s not too late.”

But Arthur knows better. Once you lose Merlin’s trust it is gone forever.

\--

The blood is stained into her skin, filling the cracks exposed by the brittle fall winds. Morgana scrubs until the skin is red and raw, blistered from the heat of the faucet and the sharp contrast in temperatures. The cleansing is methodical, the same as all her actions have been since she watched Merlin fall and Arthur run and Mordred shriek in agony. 

A buzzing noise swells around her, fills her ears and drowns out the running water until she has to shake her head. Not yet. She can’t think about any of that, yet. She needs to be functional. And to be functional she needs to remove feelings, move with a robotic efficiency, and take steps one at a time. And the panic beginning to boil just beneath the surface needs to stay locked away.

Morgana lets the chill of the porcelain sink seep into her skin until her flesh breaks out in goosebumps. She takes a deep breath. She’s _here_. They’re all here. Merlin and Mordred are in the next room being treated by Gaius. Muirden’s wounds weren’t nearly as bad as they appeared and he’s running interference with the school. Morgause is alive. Isolde’s team is all in one piece. Everything is _fine_. 

For now.

The buzzing grows a little quieter.

 _Sinkhole_ , someone had said as they plotted how to explain this to the school. It wasn’t until she realized she had five pairs of eyes on her that she realized she had said it. On autopilot she seemed to think clearer. She cleared her throat. _Just tell them it was a sinkhole_.

The faucet turns off with a shrill creak and she lets out one final breath before entering the small apartment. She slept here many times as Emrys, in this tiny apartment above the workshop. Better to be here amongst the ghost of former Emrys than at home and tragically alone.

Merlin is unconscious on the couch, the steady rising and falling of his chest the only thing that keeps her in this place of calm, keeps the buzz of panic from bursting out of her skin. Merlin will be fine, Gaius said so. Everyone is fine. For now.

The bedroom door is open and she sees Gaius standing over Mordred’s body laid across the small bed. Gwen stands beside him looking uncertain, out of her depth. She catches Morgana’s eye and gives a wan smile. The buzzing retreats once more. Surely if the news was dire a smile would not be the currency exchanged.

With that in mind, she slips from the apartment to join the others in the workshop.

The shadows are dark as she makes her way down the rickety stairwell, keeping her eyes peeled for the _Hellhound_ that Freya brought back with her and is pacing the alley. The silence of the night so discordant with the noise inside her.

“What the hell was that?”

She doesn’t scream at the voice but it’s a near thing. Morgause emerges from the shadows and stands before her at the bottom of the stairs, blocking her path to the workshop. This was premeditated.

Morgana clears her throat. “A demon. I’m sure even in your limited studies you’ve come across --”

Morgause scowls. “Not your _boy_. What the fuck did you do to my magic?”

Oh, so they were going to talk about it. The way it felt like she was electrocuted, filled with power and bursting, the world ready and willing to bend to her every command.

“I don’t know.” She doesn’t have answers. Not about this. Not about anything.

Morgause shakes her head. “You aren’t even going to come up with a clever lie? I expected --”

“I don’t,” Morgana hisses. Morgause flares her nostrils and Morgana knows the other woman well enough to see this is all bluster. She’s afraid. Morgana consciously makes herself less threatening. “All I know is it felt like….”

“Like what?”

“Like it did when I was Emrys.” That much at least is true.

Morgause’s eyes get huge. “You accessed the Emrys magic? Was it conscious or instinctual? Is that what I was feeling as well? That power? Could you do it again?” Her speech is fast, almost feverish.

“I’m not sure…” Morgana trails off, the look in Morgause’s eye making that buzzing surge up once more. It’s a dangerous look.

They are interrupted when the apartment door above them opens and Gwen makes her way down the stairs.

“Gaius is going to sit with Mordred for a bit but he thinks he should be alright. He says Merlin likely just needs to sleep it off and he’ll come to when the magic has healed him...” Gwen trails off and looks between the two of them before quirking an eyebrow. “Everything alright here?”

Morgana shakes her head. “It’s fine. We should join the others.” Morgause is just stressed and Morgana is the closest target.

Everything is fine, she reminds herself.

For now.

\--

“What a night!” the man with long hair says before holding out a hand to Arthur. “Gwaine.” He nods to the man next to him. “That’s Percival. He’s a man of few words.”

Arthur eyes the hand wearily, he’s learned enough about magic to know information can be inadvertently given through something as innocuous as a handshake.

Gwaine flashes a grin. “I don’t have magic if that’s what you’re worried about. More of a slayer than a sorcerer.” He punctuates the statement with an exaggerated wink.

Arthur gives a tight smile back and wipes his palm on his pants before taking the hand he’s offered. The gold doesn’t come off, not on his pants and not on Gwaine’s hand, Merlin’s tears stained deep into the skin of his fingers. He doesn’t know what it means. Doesn’t really know what anything that happened tonight means except for that _something_ doesn’t make sense.

The workshop is packed with bodies. When Freya unlocked the door Arthur had whispered, _should we let them in?_ Freya had just shrugged and said, _breaking a few rules is the least of my concerns right now._

Gwaine has made himself comfortable on the couch, lounged out and joking with his other teammate as if this is a typical night for him. Maybe it is. Maybe he frequently deals with situations that feel like the apocalypse. Freya is furiously typing at their computer. Elyan is having trouble keeping eye contact with him. Guilt seems to be the culprit. Arthur wants to tell him that he has absolutely nothing to be ashamed of, at least not where Arthur is concerned. Arthur knows intimately well what it means to live something of a double life. He’d have to be quite the hypocrite is he was going to hold any of that against Elyan.

Their leader hasn’t said anything, not since she relayed the story of their evening and how they found Gwen. She leans against one of the bookshelves, studying the room around her, sharpening her knives in a way clearly meant to be intimidating. More of a slayer indeed.

Arthur turns to her. Isolde, he remembers someone saying. “How did you know to arrive?” She raises her eyebrows so he clarifies. “Tonight? Why did you come at all?”

Because that’s the piece that he can’t figure out. Merlin said _he_ was the only one using technology to try and track the monsters, to understand their movements. Though given the way Isolde has been eyeing the room perhaps that won’t be the case for much longer.

Gwaine leans forward, hands on his knees. “What are you implying?” Gwaine asks. Gone is his easy going smile and in its place is a deadly glare. Percival shifts into a defensive position and even Elyan looks up at his statement. Arthur didn’t quite mean for it to come out so accusatory but he isn’t taking it back now.

Isolde studies him for a few seconds before she shrugs. “We got a call, same as always.”

So who called them? It’s too convenient that right at the moment when it seemed like the tide was truly turned against them, they miraculously appeared out of thin air. 

Magic thrums in the air around the room as the wards are activated and Morgana, Gwen, and Morgause appear in the doorway. Elyan ducks his head again, back to not making eye contact.

Gwen clears her throat as she looks around the room. “Merlin and Mordred should be fine.” Arthur lets out a long breath. He would have been upstairs except Morgana told him his panicking would not do anything to help the situation. He didn’t have the energy to argue. “Gaius will stay a while longer in case they need anything else and then he recommends taking shifts looking over them. Just in case.”

A silence descends on the group. The common enemy that united them is gone and the lack of camaraderie between them is thickening the air, the quiet growing heavy. The only sound is Freya’s hands flying across her keyboard.

Morgause breaks it first. “So what the fuck is going on?” She stands beside the door, arms crossed and eyes angry. “This has to be bigger than just one kid getting possessed.” If Arthur’s statement was an implication then Morgause’s was a full on accusation. 

“She’s right.” Morgana doesn’t sound happy about agreeing with Morgause. “The fact that so many creatures appeared should have been impossible, even if the demon was able to open his own portals. The wards were strengthened at the beginning of the fall term and should have shunted most of the creatures away immediately.”

Isolde looks at Morgana. “Do you think this has anything to do with your robberies?”

“The museum thing?” Arthur asks, before Morgana can answer.

Isolde chuckles. “There are far more missing items than just the museum.”

A familiar surge of annoyance floods his veins as he looks at his sister. “Morgana?”

She studies her fingernails as she answers. “There’s been some robberies around the city. Mostly gold.” She presses her lips together. “Could be for magic conducting.”

“Were you ever going to tell everyone this?” he hisses.

She gives him a patronizing look. “I was handling it.” Gwen makes a high-pitched sort of noise at that as Morgana flashes her a _be quiet_ look.

Gwaine holds up a hand. “Entertaining as it would be to watch the two of you argue, I think it might be more useful for us to discuss what’s going on.” He raises his eyebrows meaningfully. “Pull our resources? If this is big enough to level a section of campus, I’d hate to think what might happen in the city.”

It might be smart to pool their knowledge to assess the situation but it doesn’t seem like the sort of decision Arthur is authorized to make. Before Arthur can comment, his phone buzzes and he glances down to see a message from Freya.

_Say nothing. We don’t know who to trust._

He looks up to find her steadily typing away but her eyes cut in his direction for the quickest of moments, a subtle shake of her head. Freya must be having that same feeling he is. Something just isn’t adding up.

Someone may have been using magic to control _Hellhounds_. If that’s the case then someone sent that _Hellhound_ after Mordred, wanted him to become a demon. Or maybe the victim was random and having it attack a Sorcerer that then became a powerful demon was a fluke. Maybe Mordred was randomly targeted the same way Arthur was. It was never about getting a magic user, it was just about getting the _Hellhound_ to attack someone.

But _why_? Or perhaps the more important question is _who_?

Arthur takes another look around this room full of people who understand the nuances and intricacies of magic. One of them could be the culprit. Freya’s right. They don’t know who to trust. But he does know there is someone he trusts the least.

He sends Freya a message. _Can your magic tell when people are lying? Just by looking at them?_

She stares at the screen with a furrowed brow and gives another nod.

Arthur clears his throat. “Morgause,” the woman’s ice cold gaze snaps to him, “who hired you to investigate Mordred’s disappearance?”

All the attention in the room turns to the Bounty Hunter who looks angry enough like she might rip Arthur to shreds. He’d like to see her try because with the mood Morgana and Freya are in, they’d clearly give her a run for her money.

She works her jaw a few minutes before clearing her throat. “It was anonymous.”

Freya’s eyes never leave the computer but a message appears on his phone. _Her magic is masking her aura. I can only read her if her emotions get really strong._

Arthur might not have magic but he knows how to work people. It was a skill his father taught him, a way to get exactly what you want no matter how the odds are stacked against you. The key is you have to be able to read someone’s weaknesses early. Most people have tells they don’t even realize. Morgause wears hers right on her sleeve: her derision of him during their first encounter, the way she tries to push the Emrys program into doing what she wants without admitting that she is powerless, the way she’s looking at him right now like he isn’t worth the dirt she walks on. Morgause is arrogant, so arrogant she doesn’t understand how this program is more powerful than she is or why they’ve haven’t tripped over themselves asking if she wants to join. And she is irate at the fact that Arthur is here, a part of the team, and given a respect she doesn’t think he deserves since he doesn’t have a stitch of magic.

Arthur puts on an expression of mock sympathy and clicks his tongue. “Surely you have suspicions, great Sorcerer you allegedly are?”

The air is sucked from the room as everyone tenses. Morgause’s nostrils flare and her eyes flash gold. “I actually respect my clients unlike this operation here. When they want anonymity, I grant it. So no, I do not know who my client is.”

Arthur shrugs like he’s disappointed and he can see her grow more irate.

Morgana gives him a look like she thinks he is a total idiot for poking a rabid bear. “Does it really matter?”

Arthur opens his phone as nonchalantly as he can manage, as if this entire conversation is beneath him. 

_She’s lying_. 

Just because she’s lying doesn’t mean she’s guilty. But it does mean Arthur is right not to trust her.

“ _Unbelievable_ ,” Morgause hisses. “I risk my life to help all of you and this is the thanks I get?” She gives a hollow chuckle. “Next time you need to avert a disaster, _don’t_ call me.”

“Morgause,” Isolde says but the other woman storms out of the workshop, slamming the door in her wake. 

Gwaine shakes his head. “I understand the usual methodology of this operation is pissing off everyone but it seems like this situation just might be beyond you. God forbid you all actually value someone outside your clique.”

Morgana flashes him a placid smile. “So you can shoot us in the back?”

“That was one time!”

Isolde holds up a hand. “I get it, you don’t know if you can trust us and quite frankly we don’t trust all of you.” She pauses and lets her words hang in the air between them. “But if you ever need more hands, which based on tonight you _definitely_ will, you might want to consider making allies instead of enemies,” she says.

Arthur agrees. “Noted.”

He’s met with a nod. “Good. Now, we’ve got to go. It’s late and my team still has a _bastet_ to catch.”

Gwaine clicks his tongue as he jumps to his feet. “I’d say it’s been a pleasure but,” he shrugs. Percival gives everyone a nod and they depart.

As the team heads out Elyan looks at Gwen and says, “we can talk again at home, yeah?”

Gwen nods. “Sure. Go slay vampires or whatever.”

He tilts his head. “Vampires aren’t...you know what? Doesn’t matter.” He pats her shoulder as he passes her. “Stay safe.”

“You too.” She gives him an empty smile that doesn’t quite meet her eyes. Arthur’s eyes automatically seek Morgana’s gaze which is studiously avoiding eye contact. Seems sibling discord is the theme of the evening.

When the door closes behind them, Freya spins around in her chair to finally address the room. “Alright we have a lot of information we need to pour over but it won’t really be fruitful until Merlin wakes up and I can finish running these tests on the site of the battle.” She purses her lips and as an afterthought adds, “and I guess we could all really use some sleep. So...I’ll send a text when it’s ready? Then we can debrief.”

Arthur really wants to debrief _now_ , talk to Morgana about what exactly she’s been hiding, discuss who they can’t and can’t trust, ask Gwen what all she knows about Elyan and his team of bounty hunters but Freya’s right. He can feel the exhaustion sinking through him, making him heavy.

Morgana cracks her neck. “Works for me.” She turns to Gwen. “You want a lift home?”

“Um, that’d be great. Should I?” She stops. “Am I?” Another pause and she sticks her tongue in her cheek, thinking. “Am I coming to the debrief?”

“If you want to,” Freya tells her.

“Yeah,” Morgana agrees. “You are tragically a part of this just like the rest of us. When Emrys welcomes you to the world of monsters it’s a standing invitation.” It’s clearly a joke but the words ring hollow. It’s the sort of invitation that sometimes you have no choice but to accept. His sister turns her attention to him. “You coming?”

“I think I’ll stay here,” Arthur volunteers. He already has an extra pair of clothes stashed here seeing as how many late nights he’s pulled here. And he’s not leaving again until Merlin wakes up. Not after everything that happened.

“Same,” Freya agrees, already half turned back to her computer.

Morgana shakes her head. “You two better not enable each other. Promise me you’ll actually get some rest.”

“Yeah, sure, we’ll enable each other,” Freya says, eyes back on the screen.

Arthur gives Morgana a small smile. “I’ll make sure she sleeps.”

She gives him a long look that makes him shift uncomfortably. He wonders what she saw when they were on that field, when he thought Merlin had died. How clearly she must have seen his soul. “You too.”

“I will.”

It doesn’t look like she believes him but she relents. As Freya slips deep into whatever she’s researching, Arthur heads upstairs to relieve Gaius and post as sentry for a man whose slumber he both dreads and craves ending.

\--

“How are you doing?”

Morgana doesn’t look over at her as she asks the question. It’s the first thing either of them has said as Morgana winds their way around the edge of campus. Gwen has been staring out the window not seeing a goddamn thing and doing her best not to think.

The question makes her snort in spite of herself. It’s been a really long fucking night between being hunted by a monster and then finding out her brother was a monster hunter and then driving a truck into a monster fight. 

“Less than spectacular.” Morgana awards her answer with a small grin. “How about you?” Gwen asks.

“Oh, you know,” the other woman says, staring at the road. “Fan-fucking-tastic.” Gwen sits in the comfortable silence, still trying not to think before Morgana clears her throat. “But, I meant how are you doing with the news about Elyan, seeing as he's with Isolde?”

Ah yes, the very topic she’s been avoiding. Where to start with Elyan? 

Gwen bites her lip. “It’s really hard. Because, on the one hand we have a deal not to lie to each other and he has been living a double life where he is risking his life all the time and I didn’t know a damn thing about it.” And she can’t stand lying, least of all to her. “But on the other hand I see why he didn’t tell me. It would have taken a lot to believe him and then the knowledge puts me in danger.” She sighs. “But he’s been doing it for five years so I think after the first few months he could have figured something out, though I didn’t exactly tell him I learned that monsters were real. I guess I’m more frustrated with the situation than anything. And Elyan. I’m definitely frustrated with Elyan whether or not that’s justified or not.”

They approach a stop sign and Morgana gives her a long look as the car brakes. “You know you’re allowed to be angry, justified or not.”

The statement makes Gwen blink a few times as her perspective on the world shifts before her eyes.

Morgana shrugs before turning back to the road. “I’m just saying, not every emotion has to be logical or reasonable or whatever. Emotions are largely out of our control, it’s what we choose to do with them that matters.”

It feels like a weight is being lifted from her shoulders as she internalizes the words. Gwen has spent so much of her life keeping her emotions in check, brushing away any feelings that might make her a burden to others that she’s near giddy at this new perspective. Her emotions are hers and hers alone. She can experience them however she wants even if she doesn’t act on them,  _ especially _ if she doesn’t act on them.

“I’m allowed to be angry,” she says slowly, tasting the new idea on her tongue.

Morgana shoots her a quick grin. “Of course you are. I should also say I’m definitely not an authority on how to healthily act on one’s emotions and I highly recommend talking to literally anyone else but I do know you’re allowed to feel however the fuck you want. Took me too long to figure that one out too.”

Gwen nods, taking stock of the simmering in her veins. She’s never let herself put a name on that emotion. That well of fire inside her that she tries so hard to dim. “I think I’m  _ really _ angry.” 

“Good,” Morgana says. “You should be. Do you want to scream?”

Gwen laughs a little hysterically. “ _ Scream _ ?”

A blush coats Morgana’s cheeks and it’s Gwen’s turn to grin. An abashed Morgana is a rare sight to behold. “It’s how I let out my anger,” she mumbles, maybe a little embarrassed.

“Right now?”

Morgana shrugs. “I do it all the time. It’s what I do most of the time I’m in my car. I even have a playlist from my middle school emo music phase geared and ready to go.”

Gwen laughs again. “Okay.”

Morgana laughs too. “Great. Let’s scream.”

With music blasting through the speakers, flying down the road, Gwen finally lets free the fire and enjoys the way it burns off.

\--

Merlin wakes delirious with an itching pain in his side and panic in his veins.

“Arthur!” He sits up too fast and the world blurs, his magic pushes him to his feet and he’s moving. 

Arthur was going attack Mordred, without any fucking magic and only his bare hands like the absolute _idiot_ he is and he might be _dead_.

Merlin’s knees nearly give out at the thought.

He needs to find him. Right now. He needs --

“Merlin!”

His eyes focus and he stops at the voice. He is in the apartment above the workshop, staring into the tiny kitchen at Arthur who is looking at him with wide eyes and a glass of water in his hand. He looks so soft, in a worn t-shirt and plaid pajama pants, like he might be a vision from Merlin’s dreams.

“Arthur,” he whispers and then his knees do give out. He doesn’t know how long it’s been, how long he’s been asleep. Then warm hands are under his arms keeping him up and he buries his face in Arthur’s neck. Arthur smells like his sandalwood soap and the herbs of the workshop and underneath it the salty tang of sweat and just a bit like the brimstone of the Ether. He smells _real_.

“I thought -- I couldn’t remember,” Merlin whispers against his skin.

Arthur holds him tighter and for some reason it makes Merlin want to cry. “I’m sorry,” Arthur says. “I should have told you. About my father. About --”

Merlin shakes his head, reluctantly pulls away to look at Arthur. “I should have believed you.” His first thoughts shouldn’t have been those of betrayal. He _knows_ Arthur and Arthur knows him. It’s an old defensive tactic he needs to shake.

Arthur shakes his head, that line between his brows that tells Merlin he’s berating himself. Merlin wears his guilt as an invisible cloak but Arthur has it drawn in the lines on his face. “You had every right to be angry.” 

Forgiveness seems so easy now that he knows what it feels like to lose his chance to give it. “You had every right to keep secrets.” And Merlin has plenty of secrets woven into the lining of his guilt that he hopes Arthur will one day understand. He’s never wanted to share them before but here in this dark room, drunk on the intoxicated feeling of being alive, and having the warm skin of someone he cares about right under his rough fingers, he feels like he could bare his soul and Arthur would survive the sight.

Arthur rolls his eyes and the drunk feeling grows to giddiness. He _loves_ an annoyed Arthur. “I’m trying to do the right thing and apologize here. Can you --”

Merlin doesn’t care, Arthur is _alive_ and well and he wants to just _feel_ and celebrate and turn off the annoying part of his brain that pumps out pessimistic thoughts faster than he can register them and stop _thinking_ just for _one night_ and --

Merlin kisses him. 

Arthur’s lips are rough and chapped and it takes him approximately two seconds to realize Arthur isn’t kissing him back. He freezes. _Fuck_ , he’s misread everything. This is what happens when he doesn’t let himself over analyze all his actions. Arthur is just a flirty guy and _of course_ he isn’t into Merlin, Merlin shouldn’t even be kissing him in the first place. He is such an idiot.

Before he can apologize, Arthur comes to life, pulls him closer and kisses him back with an intensity that has Merlin’s head spinning. Merlin’s knees still feel weak but he pushes at Arthur until he stumbles back toward the wall. It’s wet and messy with too much tongue and teeth and it’s definitely moving too fast but for the first time since Merlin became Emrys he doesn’t _care_. 

For tonight, he doesn’t have to care.

Arthur flips them and Merlin’s back hits the wall and he lets out a low moan before he can catch it. He feels Arthur grin against his mouth before hot kisses press against his neck. Merlin gasps and magic stirs to life in his veins making him burn hotter. A bite at the juncture of his neck and shoulder has Merlin’s eyes rolling back in his head, his teeth firmly clenched so he doesn’t stroke Arthur’s ego too much by telling him exactly what the other man does to him, exactly how _good_ this feels. Then the hands are tight on his waist and fire shoots down his side. Not the good kind. The agony kind. The kind that feels like his skin might split and splinter and pour out his innards.

He sucks in a wheezing breath, ragged and wet, and Arthur jumps back like he’s been burned.

“Merlin, your stitches! I --”

Arthur looks horrified but his pupils are still blown wide, mouth red, and Merlin wants to _devour_ him. “I don’t care,” he growls, grabbing Arthur’s shirt and pulling him in, his magic already dulling the pain. He just has tonight and he doesn’t want to waste it. In the morning he’s going to need to face consequences and reality but for now he just wants _Arthur_. He pulls Arthur close and drags his bottom lip between his teeth.

“ _Merlin_ ,” Arthur groans, which Merlin takes as encouragement until there are hands on his shoulders, pushing him firmly against the wall. Merlin sticks out his bottom lip and Arthur smiles. “You might not care that you almost died less than twenty-four hours ago but _I_ do.” Merlin pouts more until Arthur’s grin goes soft and then the butterflies are back in Merlin’s stomach. The other man leans forward and gives him a single kiss that still manages to leave him burning. “And Mordred is unconscious in the next room.”

“Then he won’t even notice,” Merlin whines.

When Arthur leans back again, his hands squeeze Merlin’s shoulders and he’s wearing a grin that Merlin would go to war to see. Beautiful. Heart achingly beautiful. “Just,” Arthur whispers, bumping their noses together, so soft and tender and sweet Merlin swallows against an unexpected tightness in his throat, “let me take care of you.”

The suggestion makes a tingling feeling spread from his stomach all the way up to his brain, until he’s nearly as dizzy as he was when he first stood up.

“Why?” he croaks, throat dry and tight, wondering if maybe this _is_ a dream. The Emrys magic him showing his heart’s truest desire.

Arthur smiles, the slightest hint of his crooked teeth showing. “Because I want to.”

“ _Why_?” he asks again, genuinely puzzled.

Arthur narrows his eyes in annoyance. Merlin’s heart sings. “Quit being difficult and let me clean your stitches.”

Arthur leads him to the small bathroom and starts unzipping the hoodie someone put him in.

“Would you like me to strip for you?” Merlin asks, quirking an eyebrow, in a last ditch effort to get the evening back on the direction he would like it to be heading in.

Arthur’s smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I don’t think you could manage that.”

Merlin looks down at his chest. There’s a series of puncture marks running the length of his left side and violent, purple bruises covering every inch of his chest. For the first time he realizes how his muscles are aching. He woke up far too soon. The Emrys magic hasn’t fully healed him.

Arthur motions for him to sit on the toilet lid and Merlin complies with a roll of his eyes. Arthur takes a washcloth and runs it under the tap until it's seemingly warmed to his satisfaction. And then he’s running it along Merlin’s side, so carefully and with such tenderness that Merlin can’t watch. He blinks against a sudden sting in his eyes.

Arthur takes his time, rinsing the rag a dozen times until all the blood and ichor and shadow dust are gone. Merlin doesn’t look down. He knows the bruises will be worse, he just keeps his eyes on Arthur, the way his face is pinched in concentration, the way his hair falls over his forehead, the shadow of stubble Merlin doesn’t think he’s seen before because Arthur is rather meticulous about his appearance. 

Though Merlin is only missing his shirt he feels strangely naked and exposed. Studying Arthur while Arthur washes him.

When Arthur raises his eyebrows, the cloth just beside his cheek, Merlin gives a terse nod. Just tonight. It’s just for tonight that he gets this. A life where someone like Arthur cares for him enough to clean him up and put him back together again.

He nearly falls asleep under Arthur’s careful ministrations and Arthur wakes him with the lightest squeeze to his cheek.

Merlin blinks slowly and looks into Arthur’s bright blue eyes, crinkled just a little in something that might be affection. Merlin wants to thank him, wants to do far more than thank him, but doesn’t have the words.

“You need to go back to sleep,” Arthur whispers, helping him to his feet.

Arthur guides him to the couch and Merlin’s eyes sting again as he wraps the blankets around him. Merlin falls asleep to the feeling of fingers carding through his hair. He wants to savor it, since it’s only going to happen tonight, but the magic wants to heal him and he’s gone just as Arthur’s lips touch his forehead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe a kiss made it worth the wait? Definitely not lol but thanks for sticking with me anyway :)
> 
> Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos are the best :D


End file.
